


Sinville

by markymark261



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics), Daredevil (Comics), Marvel, Sin City, Sin City (2005), Smallville, Zatanna (Comics)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Gen, Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-26
Updated: 2011-11-02
Packaged: 2017-10-23 02:11:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 28,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/markymark261/pseuds/markymark261
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once upon a time that no longer happened, Lex offered Zatanna her father’s spell book back, but in return she had to grant him a wish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Customer Is Always Wrong, Part One

**Author's Note:**

> This is an alternate universe story based on the Sin City story, and so some Smallville characters are portrayed in an unfavourable light. Apologies for that.

**2008**

Zatanna stood on the balcony of Luthor mansion, rain beating down on her. She couldn’t have been there long, Lex would have surely noticed.

He let her hear his footsteps as he approached. Her black tuxedo blended in with the night sky. She wore a lot of black, from her top hat down to her knee-length leather boots; Lex liked the way her fashion sense mirrored his own.

“Ms. Zatara, glad you could make it,” he said, “though I was expecting you to arrive at my door. May I ask how you made it past security?”

“Magic,” she said, turning around to face him, with the kind of smile that could light up a galaxy. She was more beautiful than in her videos, in fact she made Lana and Desiree look plain. “And please, call me Zee.” Lex realised that Scrabble had been lying to him all these years, Zee was more than a ten, she went all the way up to eleven. Her piercing blue eyes examined him. Could she read his mind? No; if she could, she’d have slapped him for what he was thinking. She continued speaking, her voice full of confidence,“I believe you have a book for me, Mr. Luthor.” She took off her top hat, and shook her hair loose. “A book that belonged to my father.”

“Yes, I bought it recently at auction, and, please, call me Lex.”

“I believe you have a book for me, Lex,” she said, the rain starting to make her blouse transparent in all the right places.

“You’re welcome to the book,” Lex said, “but I need a favour in return.”

“A favour?”

“I’ve been finding out about you, researching you. I hear you can make wishes come true.”

“I’ve had my moments.” She smiled, her hands on her hips. Sure she could make wishes come true, that went without saying. Her face, her figure, her voice, but most of all her eyes, the kind of rich blue eyes Lex could easily drown in. She was casting a spell and she didn’t even know it. “Be careful what you wish for, Lex,” she warned him.

“I know what I want,” he said. “Something I’ve always wanted.”

“Hair?” she teased him.

Few people mentioned his lack of hair, and none mentioned it twice; Lex paused and then just smiled, the way he wouldn’t have done for anyone else. “You could say that.”

“Make a wish,” she said.

Lex’s smile faded. “I’m ready.”

Her blue eyes glowed, and then they looked at each other as the seconds passed by.

“Nothing’s happened,” Lex said eventually, tearing his eyes away from hers.

“It will by morning,” she said. “Now, if you can return my father’s book…”

“I’ll give it you when I’ve received my wish,” he said.

“And what until then?” she asked, with mock innocence. “Surely you don’t expect me to stay the night?”

“Maybe that was my wish.” He moved towards her, his lips meeting hers, as they leaned against the railing on the balcony. She wrapped her arms around him, her breathing fast. He felt her fishnet thighs around his waist, her heels digging into the backs of his legs. This wasn’t like him, he usually played his heart close to his chest, but he knew it was his last night on this earth, and he didn’t care. Everything seemed so black and white as he lifted her up and carried her to his bed, lowering her onto the black satin sheets.

With abandon, he pulled off her tuxedo - white doves and playing cards filling the air - and tore her damp blouse open. On the television across from them, a recording of her magic show played. Zatanna entertained her audience, grabbing a member and leading him into her magic box, later doing acts with ropes and handcuffs, often using mirrors while performing her amazing feats. At the climax, she had a sword thrust into her over and over again.

On the bed, life was mirroring art, while, on the ground, next to her discarded top hat, a pair of white rabbits looked up at Lex and Zatanna’s carnal exploits and began to feel quite inadequate by comparison.

Lex, covered in sweat, trying to delay the inevitable, wondered why Zatanna’s spell was taking the whole night; were her powers tantric? And then it happened, the earth moved for him.

His wish came true as the magic finally finished its work. Lex’s wish had been that the meteors hadn’t landed in Smallville on that fateful day back in 1989, so now the magic had rewritten time, delaying the meteors’ journey through space by nine years so that they’d instead land in 1998; this made it easier for the magic to alter the history books, just a couple of numbers to transpose. Zatanna’s magic may be powerful, but it could also be lazy.

In his rewritten life, Lex suddenly found himself lying in a strange bed, not knowing where he was, all alone, Zatanna no longer writhing on top of him. He looked in a nearby mirror and had to laugh.

He’d changed the world, but not for the better.


	2. That Mellow Bastard, Part One

**1998**

Not long to go. His last day. Everything had to end.

Jonathan Kent wasn’t the type to quit, but this had been forced on him by Doc MacIntyre. Jonathan had a heart condition, not helped by his occupation.

He pushed his foot down on the gas and looked at his cop’s badge, soon he’d be trading it in for a plough. Buy a farm, go back to the land, just like the old days. That's what his wife Martha wanted, and that was the life he’d wanted once too, but that was before Smallville had become corrupt, evil. With Luthor and Edge in charge of the town, someone had to fight for truth and justice. Sadly others would have to do it after today, but before then he still had one loose end to tie up, a young girl who was out there somewhere, helpless in the hands of a drooling lunatic.

His car pulled to a halt at the arranged meeting place, and there was his partner, Jack Jennings, standing there, illuminated by the crescent moon and the green shooting stars in the glowing night sky.

“Don’t want to start your retirement like this,” Jack said, a smile on his face. “Leave early, the rest of the sheriff’s department can handle this scum.”

“No way, partner, I’m going out with a bang. Got to stop that sicko.”

“Sure he’s one sick pup, sicker than a cootie with chlamydia. Why can’t he just lust after pretty girls like we used to? Remember that Daisy Duke poster you used to have on your wall?”

“Yeah, it was all so innocent then,” Jonathan said, a grin crossing his face, but just as quickly disappearing. “But not this guy; he’s as guilty as they come, and today we’re going to end it.” Jonathan started to walk off, gun in hand, down the road.

“Damn it, Jonathan, I won't let you do this, not on your last day,” Jack said, catching up with him and grabbing his shoulder. “You're going to get yourself killed, you're going to get us both killed. I won't let you, I'm warning you.”

“Let go of my coat, Jack,” Jonathan warned him.

“You're dragging me down with you. I'm your partner, they can kill me too. I didn't come back to Smallville for that. I'm getting on the horn and calling for backup.”

“Sure, Jack. We'll just wait while that Luthor brat gets his sick thrills with victim number four, Chloe Sullivan, age eleven. And she’ll be raped and slashed to ribbons and that backup that we’re waiting on will just so happen to show up just late enough for Lex to get back to his daddy Lionel, who owns this town.”

“Take a deep breath, Jonathan. Settle down and think straight. Your heart could explode if you carry on like this. You ain't saving anyone.”

“Got a great attitude, Jack. Real credit to the force, you are.”

“Martha's home waiting for you. Think about Martha.”

Jonathan stopped in his tracks. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I'm glad to hear you're finally talking sens-” Jack began, just as Jonathan’s fist hit his face.

“Then again, maybe you’re wrong.” Jonathan shook his head. Looked like the end of their friendship. Time to think about little Chloe Sullivan; for all he knew, she was dead already.

****

Chloe Sullivan sat tied to a chair, in a room filled with Warrior Angel comics. The door opened and she wished ever so hard that it was her father Gabe, here to save her, but it wasn’t. She stared into a stranger’s face, wanting to scream but being afraid to.

“You've been a very good girl, Chloe,” said a man dressed all in black. “You've been very quiet. Don't be scared, we're going to be taking you home really soon, but first we're going to introduce you to somebody. He's a very nice young man.”

****

Jonathan Kent walked along, gun in hand, determined to find Chloe Sullivan even if he had to die trying. He was halfway to the abandoned building where that lowlife Turk had said they might have taken her, when suddenly his chest felt like it was bursting. A wicked spot of indigestion, or at least that’s what he prayed it was. He carried on walking and, there outside, were two of Lex Luthor’s security guards admiring his Porsche 911.

He had to keep quiet, take them down fast. They were the security elite, but they wouldn’t listen to his badge; luckily he had the element of surprise, not to mention two fists to do his talking. However much they were being paid it was too much, as he quickly overcame them. Before he could congratulate himself on his handiwork, there was another chest pain. He paused, caught his breath, gave his heart time to slow down. He had to get over it, that little girl needed him.

****

Lex Luthor ran his black-gloved hand through his long tousled red hair. “Hello, Chloe. You must be awfully scared now, but you’ve got nothing to be scared of.” He paused, taking a gulp from his inhaler. “All we're going to do is have a nice little talk. That's all. Just a nice talk, just you and me. It’s about your friends, William and Mary and... There, there, Chloe, no need to cry.”

****

The pain got worse. Doc MacIntyre had warned him it'd be like this. He just had to take the pills he’d been given.

He fell to ground, his face grimacing in pain, and banged his fist on the floor. Then he pulled his gun out. There was no need to play it quiet, not anymore. Just had to breathe steady, prove he wasn’t completely useless . He pushed himself up to his feet. What the hell, he might as well go out with a bang.

He walked along with his gun; nothing would stop him reaching Lex Luthor. He’d seen the last two victims, a girl and a boy, their twisted little faces, all wide-mouthed and bug-eyed, frozen in their last horrible moment of living; their vocal chords cut, their bodies clinically dissected. As he approached the rear door of the building, he heard no screams. Either he was just in time or he was way too late.

He burst through the wooden door, breaking it. More of Luthor’s security guards, but he was better with his gun than they were and soon they littered the ground. Then there was silence broken only by a single gunshot and Jonathan felt a burning pain in his back. That Luthor punk had shot him from behind. Jonathan fell to his knees, as Luthor ran past him, carrying a little girl under his arm. She was still alive, thank God, fear in her face as she looked at him.

He looked at the blood on his coat. It was nothing, barely a flesh wound. He had to get to his feet. For Chloe. Groaning, he forced himself up, and set off after Luthor, calling on his radio for backup. He reached the Porsche; Luthor must have tried it first, but Jonathan had been ready for that. Leaving the building, Jonathan saw Lex heading to Loeb bridge and gave chase, ignoring the pain in his chest and everywhere else besides. Lex was a lot younger, but he also had a struggling Chloe to carry, and suffered from asthma, so Jonathan finally managed to catch up with him on Loeb bridge.

“Lex, give it up,” he shouted. “Let the girl go.”

“You can't do a thing to me, Mr. Kent,” the red-haired teenager stated calmly, in between taking deep breaths. “You know who I am... You know who my father is... You can't touch me... Look at you. You can't even lift that gun you're carrying.”

“Sure I can,” Jonathan said, and fired the gun at him, blasting his gloved hand away from Chloe. “Cover your eyes, Chloe. I don't want you watching this.” He could see her trying to be brave, stopping herself from blubbing. “I mean it, Chloe. Cover your eyes right now.”

She covered them, as another shot rang out. Jonathan stumbled back; Luthor had shot him in the shoulder.

Pulling up his gun, he returned fire, shooting Lex’s gun away, sending Lex reeling back, away from Chloe, over the side of the bridge. It was unlikely he’d survive the fall, but his kind didn’t deserve to.

Two more shots sounded out, and Jonathan fell to his feet, blood appearing all over his coat.

“For God's sakes,” came the voice of his partner Jack, behind him, “don't make it any worse. Don't make me kill you.”

“I'm alright, Jack. Never better. Ready to kick your ass.”

Jonathan kept Jack talking. He was buying time, just a few more minutes. Just till the backup got there.

“Sit down and stay down,” his old friend Jack warned him. “I'll kill you if I have to.”

Jonathan had to keep Jack’s mind off the girl - skinny little Chloe. He couldn’t kill her once the backup arrived.

“Run home, Chloe. Run for your life,” Jonathan groaned.

“Hey. Don't listen to him, he's a crazy man,” Jack said.

“What a tough man you are, huh?”

“You stay right where you're at.”

“You shoot your partner in the back then you try to scare a little girl,” Jonathan said.

“Sit down or I'll blast you in half.”

“You're so slow, you'll never stop me,” Jonathan said.

“Sit down!” Jack shouted.

“You'll never be able to stop me,” Jonathan said, his hand reaching down to his ankle, the concealed gun there, and then Jack shot him. Jonathan recoiled and then heard Chloe’s scream, and then he was shot some more, as his tired body was knocked back. He finally sat down, just as Jack had told him to.

Jack turned away, while Chloe looked at Jonathan. He could hear sirens, they were close now. She’d be safe.

Chloe touched his face, while he tried to be brave for her. He brushed her hair away, then she lay down on him and fell asleep.

Things were going dark. He didn't mind much. He was getting sleepy, that was okay. She'd be safe. A man dies, a little girl lives. Fair trade.

And then he saw a bright light, lots of them, as the Smallville sky was filled with a fiery meteor shower. The bridge shook as a huge flaming meteor whizzed past it into the waters below, belching up steam and smoke. He thought he heard Lex’s scream over it, but that could have just been wishful thinking.

He smiled as his eyelids flickered. Going out with a bang, everything was going as planned. He’d bought the farm. He was going back to the land.

Not long to go. His last day. Everything had to end.


	3. The Hard Good Guy, Part One

They called him Marv, but he didn't remember why. Didn't remember a lot but he'd remember this night as long as he lived.

The dame was as hot as hell, with legs that went up to heaven. Her face would make angels jealous, make a devil sell his soul. It was a lousy room in a lousy part of a lousy town, and the heart-shaped bed had problems with its suspension, but she made everything right. She put the magic back in his life, made him feel like he could do anything.

He'd gotten lucky, caught lightning in a bottle, won the boobie prize.

"I want you," she said, her hazel eyes looking down at him.

She smelled like angels ought to smell, a perfect woman, a goddess. He needed her like he needed oxygen; without her he'd be blue.

Lana, she said her name was Lana.

Lana was gorgeous. Drop dead gorgeous.

*****

The dispassionate young man heard it all from below; the irregular breaths, the straining springs, the yelps of delight and discovery, tongues rubbing against flesh, her whispers echoing in the man's ear canal, each bead of sweat dripping from their glistening bodies. Now, he opened the door in silence, saw the two of them lying on the bed, sleeping soundly, their energies spent. He stared at her, the curve of her breasts, her succulent pink flesh.

*****

Three hours later and Marv woke up, ready for more, and then he touched her gently, felt her cold flesh, hoped it was just a dream, but it wasn’t; it was real and a nightmare.

Lana was dead.

There wasn't a mark on her, but her body was still, lifeless, so unlike earlier when she'd been stretched over him like some angelic hood ornament, the rusty bed springs squeaking like an asthmatic banshee beneath them.

She'd been murdered and he’d been right there when it happened, lying next to her.

Who was Lana and who could have wanted her dead? Who was she besides an angel of mercy giving an inexperienced loser like him the night of his life?

It sure wasn't his way with words, he'd been tongue-tied from the moment he sets eyes on her, and with her looks she could have had anyone she wanted. So why had she picked him up at The Talon? Why him?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of sirens from the streets below.

It was the police, showing up before anybody but him and the killer could have known there'd been a murder. He'd been framed, and somebody had no doubt paid good money for it. Normally he was law-abiding, but this time things were far from normal.

"Whoever killed you is going to pay, Lana," he promised her, as he kissed her lifeless hand. Then he heard the expected banging on the door.

"Open up! Metropolis Police Department!" Looked like it wasn't just the local Smallville Sheriff's department, but the whole weight of the law being thrown against him.

"I'll be right out," he said, grabbing his jacket, and then he was, bashing down the hotel room’s door, knocking over two cops. As the other cops attempted to shoot him, he leaped into the stairwell and for a second it was as if he was flying. Halfway down, his hand grabbed hold of a banister, stopping his descent, and he leaped over it and came to rest on the floor, staring around for an exit while the sound of gunfire could be heard all around. As bullets ricocheted around him, he ran to a nearby window, and opened it the hard way, sending glass flying out as his body fell to the sidewalk. His feet hit the hard concrete and his legs took the strain; he stopped to catch his breath. That was when he saw a police car driving straight at him. Running towards it, he jumped onto the hood, and kicked through the windscreen, his feet connecting with the jaws of the cops inside.

“Sorry about this, guys,” he said, throwing their unconscious bodies out, then shoved his foot down on the gas, and started driving away.

Looking in the rearview mirror, Marv saw more squad cars appear behind him, so he continued to accelerate, his tires squealing as he roared down the streets of what the locals called Sinville, running red lights and swerving around whatever got in his way. Just when he thought he’d shook off his police escort, a helicopter joined the chase, peppering the tarmac with gunfire. Seeing Loeb’s bridge ahead, he pushed his foot down even more, and as he reached the bridge, his headlights shone on another cop car coming straight at him. His hands frantically turned the steering wheel, he took a deep breath and smashed the car through the barrier on the side of the bridge and into the river below, gunfire all around him.

The car sank like a stone. Beneath the water, lost In the murky depths, he heard the noises from above reverberate around him. Ignoring them, he discarded his coat, got out through the open windscreen and started swimming. After what seemed to his lungs like hours, he came across a sewer outlet. Entering it, he found himself in a long pipe, so he continued swimming, and eventually, breathless, dragged himself out, deep in the sewers that ran beneath Smallville, with their smell of effluent and their meteor-mutated reptiles.

Marv wanted to sit there and rest, but he didn’t have time for that. He needed answers, he needed to clear his name, but most of all, right now, he needed a shower.

****

Martha Clark woke up, and could hear a noise; there was someone else in her apartment. She pushed away the covers, got to her feet, and quietly pulled her gun from the drawer. Naked, she walked down the hall, her feet treading softly, and walked toward the light coming from the bathroom. Slowly turning the handle she opened the door, and pushed her way in, pointing her weapon.

"Marv?"

******

Marv looked at her, embarrassed.

"Sorry, Martha. I needed a place to clean up."

Martha was his parole officer, though to tell the truth she was more like a mother to him. Martha was single, but with that body, she could have any man she wanted, and often did.

She put on her nightgown. "What happened? You okay?"

"Had a fight with some cops."

"Didn't happen to kill any of them, did you?"

"No, I wouldn't kill anyone,” Marv said.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Martha pointed out.

Marv turned his gaze away from her. “That was an accident.” His mind went back to that day when he fell out of the sky, while his hand went to his face, his finger tracing one of the many scars.

“Yeah, I know, you thought you could fly.” Martha shook her head. “The judge didn’t believe that the first time.”

“This time was different; this time I can remember what happened. I didn’t kill any of the cops. Just hurt a few."

"Marv, how am I supposed to explain this?"

"There's no explaining it, not this time. This wasn't just accidentally falling on some innocent bystander, this was big."

"Settle down, Marv. At least you didn't kill anyone."

"But they think I did."

"Prison was hell for you, Marv. It's going to be life this time."

"Doesn't matter," he said. "Got things to do, a death to avenge."

“You’ll need a coat; it’s raining hard outside,” Martha said, hearing the hammering against the window. “I might still have one of Jonathan’s hanging around.”

“Jonathan? Another of your boyfriends?”

“My ex.”

“Didn’t realise you’d been married.”

“Yeah, didn’t work out,” she said, turning away from him. “Bastard wanted kids.” With that, she left the room, leaving Marv alone with his thoughts of Lana. Soon she returned with a coat in her arms, not quite large enough for Marv but it’d do for now.

"Be careful, Marv," she called out as he left.

He wasn't the one she should be worried about.


	4. The Hard Good Guy, Part Two

Marv walked down the dark streets of Smallville, putting it all together in his head. Lana had been scared; somebody wanted her dead and she knew it. So she'd hit the bars, the bad places, looking for the biggest meanest lug around, and she'd found him.

Now he was going to find the punk who'd killed her, and he was going to bring him to justice.

He'd been all round town, and now he found himself back where it had all started, back at The Talon.

As he was going in, another guy was being thrown out. The doorman tried to stop Marv too; didn't like his coat, didn't like his face. Marv didn't like the doorman either so the point was moot as he lifted the doorman off his feet, smashing his head against the ceiling.

"He's new here, Marv, he didn't know" explained Perry, the Talon’s owner, as Marv threw the guy down onto the floor.

“He does now.”

****

The Talon was Marv's kind of joint

Chloe was on stage in a revealing skintight cowgirl outfit, just getting started with her daily bump and grind, but already the crowd was breathing hard, navel-gazing, as her toned abdomen twisted and contorted before them.

Plenty of nights he'd drooled over Chloe, stared into her come-hither thighs, just like all the other losers there, but that wasn't what he was there for tonight.

"What'll it be, Marv?" asked a blonde waitress with a smile.

"A glass of milk, Harley, and keep it coming."

"Sure, honey,” she said, handing him one she’d already had waiting. “You take it slow now."

****

Harley walked away from Marv and exchanged glances with a dark silent guy sitting alone at a table. She winked as she placed his drink down, then sashayed off, the man’s eyes following her shapely behind till she was out of sight. Then he looked over at the muscular chiseled-featured guy sitting over at the bar, wearing a coat that was two sizes too small.

Most people thought Marv was crazy, but not Bruce Wayne. In another world, another time, Marv would be a hero, saving the day, flying high. Just that life has a way of pulling the rug out from under your feet, Bruce knew that.

All it took was one bad day.

****

Marv felt a gun pushed into his back.

"Show's over, dickwad," the idiot behind him said. "Drink up."

Marv knocked back his milk in one, and got up. “Now, that's one fine-looking coat you're wearing there,” he said, looking at the idiot, and then he noticed the idiot had a friend, but one whose coat wasn’t as noteworthy..

The two of the idiots led Marv out, down some stairs.

"Your killing days are over, you do-gooder son of a bitch," said the first idiot, just before Marv snatched the gun out of his hand and smashed it into the face of the second idiot.

Before the first idiot could respond, Marv had pushed him to the ground. Marv loved hitmen. No matter what you did to them, you didn't feel too bad.

“Take it off!” Marv ordered the man.

“What?”

“A fine coat like that, and you're bleeding all over it. Though red is one of my favourite colours.”

“All right, it's all yours,” the guy said, taking off the coat.

“Thanks.” Marv grabbed the coat and swapped it for the one he was wearing, trying it on for size. "It wasn’t you losers who killed Lana. The guy who did that ... he knew what he was doing. So tell me, who sent you? I don't hear you giving me any names." Marv's fist hit the wall, just next to the idiot's head. "You keep holding out on me like this, and I'm going to have to get really nasty."

"It's Bruno. Bruno Mannheim passed me the order. He runs the Ace of Clubs over in Metropolis."

"Thanks again," said Marv, then threw a knockout punch to the man’s jaw. He threw his old coat over the hitman’s unconscious body and started to walk off into the night. Then the strangest thing happened. For a second he smelled the angel's smell that belonged to Lana. Must have been his mind, playing tricks, like always.

****

The brunette was standing there, down an alleyway, out of his sight. She cocked her gun.

"Bastard, You're going to pay for what you did to me."

*****

Following the hitman's lead, Marv set off on a trail around Smallville and Metropolis, one informant leading to another. Whoever was behind this knew how to cover their trail, but Marv's fists were finding the answers.

Now, at the Roulette Casino, his fists were of no use; Marv would never hit a lady. Still, there were other ways to get answers.

He stopped pushing down and Victoria Sinclair's wet head pulled back out of the water.

"You'll never get me to talk, you motherf-"

"No need for the potty mouth," said Marv, plunging her head back into the toilet bowl.

He saw the bubbles rising around her head, and waited till they'd stopped a good while before letting her up again.

"You like talking, lady? How many got paid off for the frame? How many for the kill?"

"It was Richtor Maddox," she spluttered, when he finally let her up for air. "He set me up. He'll never talk."

Marv saw that as a challenge; Maddox worked at Belle Reve, but on the side he was also involved in underground fight clubs, including the impromptu one Marv set up for him that night. Maddox didn’t like that fight club at all; it would be a long time before he’d be having sweet dreams again.

Still, Maddox talked. They all talked.

****

It had been a long time since Marv had been to confession, in fact he wasn’t sure if he’d ever been. Now, here he was, because of Lana, stuck in a confession booth, talking to a priest. The priest was just the latest name he’d been given, Edward Teague.

"And what have been your sins, my son?" the priest asked, the grill separating them casting a crisscross shadow over Marv’s face.

"Well, Father. I don't want to keep you up all night, so I'll just fill you in on the latest batch. These here hands of mine, they got blood all over them."

"You're speaking... figuratively?" the priest said, a worried tone in his voice.

"I need to find something out, I just go out and look for somebody that knows more than me and I go and I ask them. Sometimes, I ask pretty hard. You might say I've been working my way up the food chain. First are minnows, small time messengers, but it was Maddox who fingered you, Father."

"Dear Lord, Marv. This is a House of God."

"So, you know my name, huh, Father?”

“Better than you know yourself,” the priest said. “You used to have powers, used to be a hero, but now you’ve been made mortal; people barely remember what you were.”

“You really are pushing your luck, feeding me garbage like that.”

“I used to be a lawyer, once worked for the Luthors. They twisted this town, corrupted it; is it any wonder God showed his vengeance with that heavenly onslaught of fire. I knew it would come eventually, it was prophecised. I just had to have faith. That’s when I, like so many of the town, turned to religion.”

“I want a name, not your life story.”

“I’ll give you a name, yours. I’m writing it down now on this piece of paper.”

“That’s not the name I want,” Marv shouted. “Just tell me who was behind all this; who’s framing me for Lana’s murder?"

"Morgan Edge."

"Edge? But he’s in charge of Smallville’s underworld. It can't be that big."

"There's a farm on Hickory Lane, across from the cemetery. It's all there. Find out for yourself. While you're at it, ask yourself if that corpse of a slut is worth dying for."

Worth dying for. Worth killing for. Worth going to hell for. Marv pulled the grill back, and his hands grabbed the priest and smashed his head against the wall, blood splattering everywhere.

"You shouldn’t have called her a slut."

Marv looked down at what the priest had written, but it was all covered in blood now; all he could make out now were the last two letters:

EL


	5. The Hard Good Guy, Part Three

The keys Marv had taken from the priest said he drove a Mercedes. Or at least what they were passing off as a Mercedes these days.

As Marv opened the car door he heard the screech of rubber behind him. He stepped away from the car, turning to face the oncoming threat; an open-top pink car was speeding his way, its headlights dazzling him, and as it got closer he instantly recognised the driver that came into view. He could never forget her, or her headlights, and wouldn’t want to.

“Lana?” he said, frozen to the spot, just long enough for her car to plough into him, throwing him through the air. He fell to the ground, the wind knocked out of him.

“Lana?” he gasped, pushing himself up to his knees, and then the car crashed into him again, like a sledge hammer on steroids, flinging him back into the air. He fell to the ground, his whole body aching, as the car turned and the woman drove alongside him, her brown hair blowing in the breeze, her eyes filled with vengeance; she pulled out a gun and aimed it. The sound of gunshots rang in Marv’s ears as bullets hailed all around him, and then, just as quickly as she’d appeared, she swerved the car round and drove off into the night.

It couldn't be Lana, he told himself, as he struggled back to his feet and steadied himself against the Mercedes. Just a fantasy.

****

He drove the car, towards the farm that the priest had told him about, but his mind was on Lana.

No, that hadn't been Lana back there. Lana was dead. More of an angel than ever.

And that was the whole reason why he’d been doing what he’d been doing, why he was driving to the farm now. He had to find Lana’s killer, and once that was done he’d be driving to the cemetery opposite, to bury her killer, dead or alive.

*****

The cold thing, it crept into his gut and told him one more time it wouldn't let go. This was a bad place, this farm. People had died here. The wrong way.

Suddenly a golden retriever appeared, snarling.

"I don't want to fight, pooch,” Marv said. “I got no gripe with you. Easy, boy."

The dog snarled some more, and then lurched forward, almost faster than Marv could see, and as Marv stumbled back, the dog took a bite out of his coat.

“Well, if that’s the way you want it... Sorry about this, pooch,” he said, and punched the dog in the face.

The dog just stood there and growled.

Marv backed away slowly, not making any sudden moves. “Easy, boy.” As he moved back, he felt a branch beneath his feet. Slowly he picked it up and then rapidly brought it down on the dog’s head.

The dog barked and snarled and looked at the branch. Then it looked at Marv, straight in the throat.

“Guess I better stick with my mitts,” said Marv, and flung the branch away into the distance. As he did so, the dog ceased its growling and instead rushed off in the direction of the branch.

“That was easy,” Marv said, and started to walk toward the farm building. After his second step, the dog appeared in front of him again, shaking his tail, and dropping the branch at his feet.

“You want to play fetch?” Marv asked, picking up the stick. “Okay, I’m sure we can tire you out.” And so he threw the branch as far as he could. And when the dog brought it back, he threw it again. And again. And again.

Still the dog brought the branch back, ever eager to continue, not even panting. Marv shook his head and looked around. Finally, he threw the branch again, straight towards the well. The dog zoomed down it, but couldn’t get back up again, its howls echoing in the night.

He’d let the dog out, eventually, but for now it was whoever owned him he was curious about, because there was blood on the dog’s breath, and he thought he knew what kind. So he looked around where the grass had been dug up, to see what was buried.

“Here we go,” Marv said as he found a human bone.

Suddenly he heard footsteps. Impossible. Nobody could sneak up on him.

A kick to his face almost knocked his head off, then his ribs cracked as a fist flew into him. Before he could react, blood was filling his eyes.

He went blind, and couldn’t hear a sound. Nobody was that quiet. Nobody except the one who’d snuck into that hotel room.

“It was you. You killed her. You killed Lana. It was-”

Another punch, so fast it sent him flying across the field and into unconsciousness.

****

Marv woke up, his body aching. He’d blown it. He’d found Lana’s killer, but the killer had been better, stronger, faster. Too quiet. Too quick. A killer born.

Why hadn't the killer finished the job?

Marv looked at the room he was in. Black tiled walls, with heads mounted on them, both humans and animals.

A voice came from behind him, “He keeps the heads. He eats the rest.”

“Martha?” He turned around, and saw her huddled there, shivering, naked, in a corner. “Let's get you warm.” He took off his coat and placed it on her shoulders. “Sorry it’s not the one you gave me. I’ve been getting through a lot of coats lately.”

Martha seemed to not even notice the coat, her mind was elsewhere. “It's not just that dog of his. The dog just get scraps, bones. It's him. He eats... people... Just like they were steaks. Now he's got both of us.”

“It's alright. Take a nice slow breath.”

“Just look at the heads on the wall. The heads on the wall. The heads on the... Son of a bitch. He kept smiling that damn smile, made me watch him... suck the meat off my fingers.”

Marv looked down at her hand, severed at the wrist.

“He made me watch. He made me watch!” she screamed.

Marv hugged her.

“Christ, I could use a cigarette,” she said, a finger of her one hand tracing a line from his chest down to his manhood. “Preferably post-coital.”

Dames were like buses. You’d wait for ages then two would come along at once. Still, Martha was like a mother to him, vulnerable, fearing for her life; it seemed so wrong, but then again, her touch made it seem so right.

“Holy -” he began, but then her mouth engulfed his, and they both provided comfort to each other, forgetting the world for a moment. Martha knew some moves; she was at her sexual peak, Marv, on the other hand, was at her sexual trough. It seemed to last longer than forever but not nearly long enough, and then, their bodies worn out, they lay there, holding each other, and Martha drifted off to sleep.

Marv couldn’t sleep. Not after Lana. He was afraid to, afraid of Martha being dead when he woke up.

He had to find a way out of there. He had to save Martha, the same way he hadn’t saved Lana. The priest told him he used to be a hero; he was just hoping lightning could strike twice.

****

Martha woke to see Marv’s shadow coming from above; he’d climbed onto the tiled walls, and was tugging at the bars. She got to her feet and started pacing the room, looking up at him.

“They brought us here, of all places,” she said. “Used to live here, back when I was content being a farmer’s wife, before I went into law like my father wanted. I remember this room, though the heads are new, and the bars... You brought us some big trouble this time, Marv,” she said, while he continued struggling. “Whoever's behind this little thing, has his connections right in the department.”

“Any leads?”

"As you can see,” she said, raising her severed arm, “I'm stumped. Whoever it is, he knew I was checking out that hooker almost before I did.”

"What hooker?"

"The one you've been obsessing over. The dead one. Lana. Knew her when she was a kid; I blame her parents."

"I didn't know she was a hooker... It doesn't make any difference about anything, but I didn't know that.”

"She was high class stuff, a head for sin and a body for sin. Must've shown you quite a time."

Marv was about to answer, when he heard the sound of an engine outside, getting louder. “Wait. There's a car coming.”

He looked through the window, and heard the car driver shout a name - Kal. A young man, who’d been waiting outside the window, ran across and entered the car. He ran so silently, Marv knew that he had to be the one who’d sneaked up on him... sneaked up on Lana.

Marv had a face... and a name.

“I'll see you later, Kal,” he said as he tugged hard on the bars, one last time. With a grating sound, they came free from the wall and Marv fell to the ground. He barely noticed any pain when he landed; the important thing was that he was free. Getting to his feet, he dusted himself off, and turned to Martha.

“Let's go.”

As they climbed out of the window, there were bright lights in the night sky, and the noise of spinning rotors. They looked up to see a police helicopter about to land. Marv and Martha ran along the grass and hid out of sight, keeping watch. He saw the police entering the farm building, no doubt looking for him. It didn’t take them long to discover Marv was gone.

“They're done checking the farmhouse,” Marv said to Martha, who was sitting behind him. “They're coming this way now, it’s me they want. But don’t worry, Martha, I'll show them." He cracked his knuckles, prepared to go down fighting, when suddenly everything went black as he dropped down unconscious.

****

Martha looked down at Marv, a rock in her hand.

"You're not going to get any of us killed, Marv. This needs words, not fists."

She left Marv and their leafy hideaway, and walked out in front of the police, goosebumps on her flesh despite the warmth of Marv’s jacket, the light of the helicopter blinding her. "No, don't shoot,” she said, her hands in the air. “Please, listen to me. I'm his parole officer. He's unconscious and unarmed. So there's no need to kill him."

Those were Martha Clark’s final words as Captain Maggie Sawyer’s machine gun burst into life, making Martha’s body dance like a hole-filled rag doll.

****

Marv looked up to see the police captain shooting Martha down.

“Captain. The target. There's no sign of him,” said one of her men, Officer Turpin.

“Here’s a sign,” Marv said, as he rushed up, his fist hitting Turpin square in the jaw.

The other cops tried to take care of him, but he was stronger and faster, and soon took care of them.

Maggie Sawyer aimed her uzi at Marv, but he threw another cop in the way. The cop juddered about as the bullets hit him, and then Sawyer’s gun had run out of ammo. Marv threw the cop aside and walked toward Maggie Sawyer.

“That there is one damn fine coat you're wearing.”

****

As he walked toward the mansion, Marv’s mind kept going back to Maggie Sawyer and what she’d told him. He was pretty steamed about what she'd done to Martha, but she was a lady and he was a gentleman, so he’d let her live. In exchange she’d told him about the corruption in the Metropolis Police Department and who was responsible for it: Morgan Edge. Crime boss.

Edge could've become President, but he chose a more honest kind of crime, and along the way, he just happened to become the most powerful mobster in Smallville. And here he was going to get killed in the name of a dead hooker. Marv was getting used to the idea. More and more, he was liking the sound of it

Then, as he stood in the rain, outside Edge’s mansion, it hit him like a gunshot in the gonads. What if he was wrong? He got confused sometimes. He’d even seen Lana alive today. What if he’d imagined all of this? Like that time he’d thought he could fly. He couldn't kill a man unless he was certain. He had to know for sure, get the full story, and there was only one place to go when it came to dead hookers..

****

Smallville had once been a nice place, give or take its propensity for automobile accidents, but that had been before the Nineties and the Luthor years. While Lionel Luthor had taken over the town’s businesses, running them down into the ground if not into Hades itself, his childhood friend Morgan Edge’s crime empire had simultaneously blossomed. One of Edge’s sidelines had been Pleasant Meadows, a home for the kind of girls who knew what boys liked, a haven for harlots. Before long, Smallville had been christened Sinville, The Meat Capital of the World.

Now, Marv walked the streets of Pleasant Meadows, looking for answers among the floozies and the fishnets. The merchandise was all on display; the kind of girls who made rich men poor, who’d bend over forwards to make a guy happy. For an hour or so, he asked around about Lana. He didn't get any answers, but he knew he was bound to. Martha had said Lana was a hooker, and if she was, she had roots here. Friends, maybe even family.

As he talked to some more lethal lovelies, a dame dressed in pink suddenly strode into view, more lethal and lovely than all of them. He couldn’t take his eyes off her as she walked up to him, raised her gun, and shot him in the shoulder.

"You can't be Lana,” he said, his hand clasping his wound. “Lana's dead."

She smiled as she shot him again.

Pain filled his body, then everything went black.


	6. The Hard Good Guy, Part Four

Marv began to come to, tight ropes cutting into his arms, a hard chair beneath him. For a second he felt sick to the stomach, fragments of a repressed memory bubbling to the surface; he was just a boy and he looked into those piercing blue eyes, that long red hair. They wanted him to answer their question, and he’d said it, that one word. What was that word?

The answer slipped from his grasp, as he fully regained consciousness. He was sitting down, bound, surrounded by four dames with looks that could kill. The only one he recognised was the beautiful brunette standing directly in front of him.

"Lana. Yeah, sure, right."

"Bastard." She pulled her gun back then slapped the barrel against his face, knocking his head to the right, then swung it against his other cheek rocking his head the other way, and then once more it slammed to the right as she built up her momentum, hitting him even harder.

Marv just laughed.

"He's crazy," one of the girls, a young blonde, said. Another girl, this one wearing a figure-hugging Zorro outfit, just nodded.

"Hit him again, Tina... Harder," said a raven-haired woman dressed in black leather, licking her lips and bending forwards.

"Wait a minute,” Marv said. “Why did she call you Tina?"

"Because that's my name, you ape. Tina Greer. Lana was my friend. There was only one Lana; I couldn't let her memory die."

“But you look just like her.”

“I’m a meteor freak,” Tina said. “A shapeshifter.”

"Lana was a lot nicer."

She smashed the gun barrel across his face, loosening a few of his teeth. And then once again, knocking them out, followed by a trail of blood and spittle, but she didn’t care, she wasn’t just hitting him, she was hitting her stride, as his head jerked between left and right.

"I’m gonna leave you black and blue and dead all over,” she said, finally pausing to rest her arm, “but first I need some answers. Lana and the other six. Where are they? What did you do to them?"

Marv spat out some of the blood in his mouth. "You crazy goddamn broad. Just take a look at this mug. Would any of you dames let me get close enough to you to kill you? None of you would. But Lana... she did because she thought I could protect her. And I'll bet those cops didn't do a damn thing about those other girls tonight. But as soon as they had me for a fall guy, they showed up, guns blazing. But they didn't get me. And I've been punching my way to the truth ever since. So go ahead, doll... shoot me now, put me out of my misery. Or get the hell out my way."

Tina aimed her gun at him, then relented.

"Aw. Nuts," said the leather-clad lady, her face switching from arousal to disappointment.

“Okay, I’m glad we got all that sorted out.” Marv stood up and shrugged, the ropes breaking off him.

"What the hell?” Tina said.

“How did he break them? They’re the strongest ropes I’ve got," gasped the lady in the black leather, while the girl next to her in the Zorro outfit looked similarly confused.

"You sat there and took it, when you could've taken my gun away from me any time you wanted to?" Tina said.

"Well, sure. I thought I might be able to talk some sense into you. And I probably would've had to paste you one. And I don't hurt girls." He picked up his coat from the floor. "I need a pair of handcuffs"

"What style you want?” the raven-haired lady said. “I got a collection."

"Just give him the ones you got with you, Selina."

****

Marv needed some supplies. Tina was driving him to Fordman’s department store, while he was sitting in the passenger seat, finally giving her some answers.

“It was a farmboy named Kal who killed Lana. But it was Morgan Edge who was behind it and I don't know why. I know that sounds crazy," Marv said.

"No it doesn't. Edge used to be in charge of us girls in Pleasant Meadows, but we finally turned against him, took control.”

“But what did Lana have to do with that?”

“Lana worked the Mob. She knew stuff, helped us to blackmail him. So did some of the other girls. That was a while ago, but looks like Edge has a long memory," Tina said.

Just like that, a whopper of a puzzle piece had fallen smack into his lap. He was too dumb to put the whole picture together yet, but Tina fired up two cigarettes and handed him one. He didn’t normally smoke, but with the day he’d been having, now seemed like a good time to start. He tasted her lipstick on the cigarette and suddenly his heart was pounding so loud he couldn't hear anything else. He wanted to reach over and touch her and taste Lana's sweet sweet sweat one more time.

But she wasn't Lana.

****

Marv was standing at the counter in Fordman’s department store.

"Yeah, yeah, this'll do,” he said, holding the quart of milk. “I'm also going to be needing a dozen two-foot lengths of this rubber tubing... and a spool of razor wire. A pair of those special gloves that'll let me handle the wire."

"Beefing up the old home security, huh?" said the guy behind the counter.

"You bet your ass," said Marv. “Oh, and do you have any coats in my size?”

****

Tina put her foot down, as the car zoomed through the night like a cheetah on roller skates.

"She was my friend, so I'm in this one to the end, but why are you willing to go up against Edge for someone you barely knew?"

"She was nice to me,” Marv said. “Gave me something I didn't even know existed. I wasn't never even able to... buy a woman. Yeah, the way I look."

Marv took his mind off Lana and crawled back inside himself. It was almost killing time, and he better get sharp.

He checked the list - dog food, rubber tubing, gas, saw, cuffs, razor wire, new coat, milk, and his mitts.

"We're close enough. Pull over," he said.

"Yes, Marv."

****

"Keep the engine running,” he told Tina. “If I'm not back in twenty minutes, you get the hell out of here. Don't look back."

"Kill him for me, Marv. Kill him good."

“I won't let you down, Lana.”

****

Marv met the dog again, but this time he’d come prepared. While the retriever ate the cans of dog food he’d brought, containers and all, Marv was laying his trap with the wire, laying it out in a grid so that Kal wouldn’t be able to sneak up on him again without cutting himself down to size. Marv then looked at the farm and saw the boy through a window, He was heading downstairs to the kitchen, getting himself a midnight snack. Marv could guess what kind.

He downed the quart of milk, and then wiped his milk moustache away, poured the gas into the empty bottle, stuck a piece of rag into the top of it, and lit it. He then threw the lit bottle into the farmhouse, and just as it hit, he saw Kal jump out through a window, as the farm exploded behind him.

“Come on, you pesky kid,” Marv said as he waited.

Damn, Kal was slick, and resistant too; he walked straight into the traps, tearing them apart, and then his feet smashed into Marv’s face, knocking him down, and his fist connected with Marv knocking him clean into the cemetery opposite, straight into a freshly dug plot. As Marv lay on his back, groaning, he saw Kal had somehow caught up with him, leaping down into the grave, knocking the wind out of Marv. He then picked up Marv with one hand, and launched him into the sky with a punch. For a second, Marv was unconscious, and then he was flying - no, falling - and he smashed hard against the ground, putting all his muscles out of joint. He struggled to get up, his body aching and screaming and generally hating him in all sorts of new ways, and realised where he was. This was the old unused Creekside Foundry, not that that realisation would do him any good, as he saw a blue and red streak speeding towards him.

“Is that the best you can do, creep?” Marv asked, his vision covered with blood, as he staggered to his feet. “That's right. Get personal, get close. I can take it,” he said, as Kal lifted him off the ground, and then Kal collapsed. Marv didn’t understand, but he handcuffed him.

“I got you, Kal. Let's see you hop around now.” But the kid wasn’t doing any hopping, just making faces. Then Marv saw them on the ground, green glowing rocks, so he grabbed Kal’s face and start shoving the rocks into his mouth, but before Kal could choke on them, he’d collapsed.

****

Marv tried to slow his heart down and breathe the fire out of his lungs. His muscles made him a thousand promises of pain to come.

Then he smelled her scent behind him, heard her cocking back her gun’s trigger.

“Let me do it, Marv,” Tina said. “She was my friend, let me finish him.”

“You wasn't supposed to come down here, Tina”

“Oh, but I wanted to kil-” His fist was faster than her trigger finger and she crumpled like a sexy rag doll, her features changing from Lana’s to Tina’s as she flopped to the ground.

He carried her away. “I'm sorry, kid, but I haven't even started with this creep and I don't want you watching the rest. It'll give you nightmares.”

****

Tina lay in the car, while Marv talked to Kal.

“God, I got to tell you, I'm good and bushed. It's not that fight of ours that did me in either. It's all that sawing and tying. It's not as easy as it looks. It could've been a real mess around here if I didn't have that tubing for tourniquets.”

Kal lay against a tree, silent.

“I got to admit, there was a spurt or two. To get the scent in the air. To get that friend of yours to come running.” He turned to see the dog. “Well, what do you know. Look who's here?”

“Here he comes. That's a good dog,” he said, as the dog started to chew on Kal’s severed limbs.

Kal didn't scream. Not even when the mutt had had its fill and gone off to bury Kal’s gnawed bones in the nearby cemetery, leaving Kal's guts lying all over the place. Somehow Kal, now just a head and torso remaining, was still alive, still staring at Marv.

Even when Marv grabbed the saw and finished the job, removing Kal’s head from his shoulders, he never screamed.


	7. The Hard Good Guy, Part Five

Marv put in a call to The Talon and asked Chloe to get her clothes on and meet him at her place. She said yes, like always.

"Hey, Chloe. You got any milk?" He entered carrying Tina’s unconscious body in.

"Sure, Marv. Who's the babe?"

“A meteor freak, but don’t worry. She’s okay.”

There wasn't much of anything Chloe wouldn't do for him, not since a year back when some other meteor freak roughed her up and Marv straightened him out but good. It really got his goat when guys roughed up dames.

"So what do you want me to do with her?" Chloe asked.

"Well, your best bet is... drive her back to Pleasant Meadows."

“Oh, she’s a hooker?”

Marv nodded.

“Looks like you really tired her out,” she joked, then saw Marv’s face. “Oops, sorry, didn’t mean to make you blush. Don’t worry, I’ll get her back there, no problem.”

“You’re a diamond, Chloe. Any more at home like you?”

“Well, there’s my cousins, you should meet them. Lo and Luce.”

“I bet they are,” said Marv.

Chloe smiled. "What about you? Cops been looking for you. You might want to leave town."

"No way. I like it here. Besides, still got unfinished business."

“Well, best stick to the outskirts then.”

“Funny you should say that, I’m going to the Edge.”

***

Marv hotwired a parked cab and stayed under the speed limit so as not to get any attention. His head started to clear, and things started to make sense. He owed Lana. He owed her and he was going to pay up. So if going after Morgan Edge meant dying, he’d die laughing if he knew he’d done this one thing right. As his journey came to a close, he pulled up a safe distance away from Edge’s mansion, put a bloodstained rucksack on his back, and then walked the rest of the way to the mansion, sticking to the shadows.

Outside the building, a security guard talked into his radio. “Quiet as a grave out here. No sign of target.”

“Alright, keep a lookout,” came the response, but he never heard it; by then Marv had knocked him unconscious. That was the first security guard of many, but Marv was prepared to be patient; finally, no more guards stood in his way, and he opened his rucksack, pulling out the grisly contents, and then opened the room to Edge’s bedroom.

"Kal?" Edge said, as he saw the face in the darkness.

"What's left of him, anyways. The dog ate the rest.” Marv lay Kal’s lifeless head on the table.

“Oh, my God,” Edge got up. “You monster. You... demon.”

“Don't scream or I'll kill you here and now.”

“He was like an angel, he fell out of the skies. And he's dead now, because of one stupid whore.”

“It's not a real good idea for you to talk about Lana that way... not while I'm around.”

“I found him ten years ago in Miller’s field, just after the meteors had arrived; a young boy, barely ten, confused, yet so powerful. I tried to help him, gave him a home - just think what he could have done for me? He even helped me if it suited his wishes, like taking care of Lana and those other... “ Edge saw the look on Marv’s face, “...ladies. But he wouldn’t talk to me, wouldn’t talk to anybody. Not that he couldn’t speak, just why would he? He was like a God; to him we were just insects, animals, like that pet dog of his, Shelby. Why would anyone want to talk to insects? We were just playthings to him, animals... food.”

Marv made a derisive snort. “I blame the parent. I blame you.”

“It’s survival of the fittest, he eats us just like we eat animals. Besides, they were all whores. Nobody cared for them. Nobody would miss them. And then your Lana almost ruined everything. She stayed in public places. And then with you... You were so convenient. Who would believe a thug like you? Kal killed her. I ordered the police in for you. But you wouldn't be caught. You wouldn't stop. And now he's dead and you're here to… eliminate me. Will that give you satisfaction, Marv? Killing helpless little me?”

“No satisfaction. Just that when you took away Lana you took away the only thing that ever meant anything to me, it only seems fair to do likewise.”

“Kal,” he said, picking up the boy’s head. “I’m sorry.”

“You can scream now if you want to,” Marv said as he walked toward Edge.

He heard the sound of security guards rushing up the stairs, as he squeezed Morgan Edge’s head with all his might.

It was beautiful. It was just like he’d promised Lana, only better. And when Edge’s eyes went dead, the Hell he sent him to must have seemed like Heaven after what he’d just done to him.

The door burst open.

“Freeze!” shouted one security guard. “Oh my God,” shouted another, and their guns screamed louder still, filling Marv’s chest with lead.

****

Jerks. They should've shot him in the head, and enough times to make sure. Now he was in the Smallville Medical Center, doctors working on him. It was so stupid. Everybody knew what was coming, but they went through the motions anyway. What a waste of time.

He stayed in his hospital bed; months fell off the calendar while he breathed and ate through tubes. Night after night he waited for someone to come and finish him off. After a while he realized it wasn’t going to be as easy as that.

Eventually he was well again, well enough to be taken in by the cops and tied to yet another chair. They didn't ask him any questions, they just kept knocking the crap out of him and waving a confession in his face, and he kept spitting blood all over it and laughing at how many fresh copies they came up with.

Then along came this worm assistant district attorney who turned the recorder off and said that if he didn't sign their confession, they'd kill Marv’s uncle. Marv broke the worm’s arm in seventeen places and then signed it.

From then on, it was the circus everybody wanted it to be. They nailed him for the works. Not just the people he did kill, but even Martha and the girls that Kal had eaten. And even Lana.

Judge Ross was all fire and brimstone when she handed down the sentence.

***

Midnight and his death were only a few hours away, when he got his first surprise in months, his only visitor. He was ready for anything but that scent.

“I got him for you good, didn't I, Lana?” Then he realized his mistake. ”I'm sorry, Tina. I got confused again, seeing you like this.”

“You can call me Lana.”

They held each other.

She smelled like angels ought to smell. The perfect woman. The goddess.

Lana. She said her name was Lana.

***

They fixed him a pretty decent steak for his last meal. They even threw in a glass of milk. It was the first he'd had since back at Chloe's.

Then they shaved his head, fixed him with a rubber diaper, and got to it, fastening him into the electric chair.

And it was about time, if you asked him.

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...” began the minister.

“Would you get a move on? I haven't got all night.”

“You heard the man,” said one of the officers. “Hit it!”

Marv felt the electricity surge through him and memories suddenly returned. He had been a hero once.

“That the best you can do, you pansies?” He smiled as another surge went through him; he shook in the chair and yelled his word, “Shazam!”

And as the lightning struck, the magic happened, and he saw himself on a heart-shaped bed with Lana.

It was some kind of heaven.


	8. The Big Bad Day, Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The upcoming part of the story crosses over with Marvel and DC but doesn’t contain much in the way of Smallville characters, so you might want to skip the next few chapters and go to the next part (when it arrives).

They called her Harley. An interest in criminal psychology had brought her to Sinville; that’s were all the criminals had gravitated to, that’s where she was going to make a name for herself. Her hometown Gotham had just been too law-abiding and dull, so she’d gone to where the action was, getting a waitress job to support herself through her studies. It had all finally been falling into place for her. Then she’d met Jack.

She could hear him banging against her door, rattling her chain, but she wasn’t letting him in; not this time. Finally the banging stopped, replaced by his voice.

“Come on, Harley, let me in. I must mean something to you.”

“Well, you meant something once,” she said, resting against the wall, her hands gripping the sleeves of the white baggy shirt she was wearing, pulling it tighter. “You used to make me laugh, Jack, but then the laughter turned to tears. You don’t make me laugh no more.”

“That really hurts.”

“Yeah, well, you really hurt me, Jack. Repeatedly. My friends all told me to leave you; so did my enemies.”

“I know you’re unhappy, babe. Let me make it right.”

“Unhappy? I find out I’ve been sweet talked by some joker who skipped out on his pregnant wife who he didn’t even tell me about. I’m not even sure Jack Napier’s your real name. Then there’s your using me as a punchbag; that’s far from endearing. The only way you can make things right is to vamoose.”

“Just open this door,” he said, part request, part order.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and she turned around to see the owner of the shirt she had on. He was standing there, bare-chested, with the kind of physique that looked like he’d been working on it all his life, his muscle layout the very definition of definition. “Go ahead and let him in,” he said. “I’ll take care of things.” She looked at him and she felt safe, for the first time in a long time. Jack had been a mistake, psychologically disturbed, dangerous even, but thankfully Bruce was just what she’d been looking for, a normal guy.

“Open the door, Harley!” Jack said again.

Bruce nodded at her. “I’m ready.”

“No, you don’t know what he’s capable of,” she warned him. It was nice he was trying to protect her, but she had to protect him.

“He’s been drinking,” Bruce said, “and he’s got four friends in the hall who make him look sober.”

“Is that someone in there with you?” Jack shouted.

“Yeah, I’m making love with a bunch of meteor freaks. You wouldn’t believe what they can do. Think you can handle them?”

“Don’t know why you’re trying to make me angry, Harley, but it’s working. Now do I kick the door off the hinges or do I let my gun do the talking?”

“You wouldn’t?” she said, suddenly noticing Bruce had vanished on her.

“You really think that?” he said. “You don’t think I’ll do something crazy?”

She knew that crazy things were his speciality. “Okay, Jack,” she said, reaching for the door chain. “You win.”

The door opened and Jack marched in, followed by his entourage. “Make yourself at home, guys.”

They came through the door, his usual hangers on. First Ozzie waddled in, overweight and smelling of fish as always, followed by the two tall thin guys, Jon and Eddie, and finally Harv, who she had to admit wasn’t half bad looking. They slumped down on the couch and chairs.

“Bring enough of your loser friends with you?” she asked.

“We’re just having a good time, Harley, don’t spoil it. How about you call up some of your friends from The Talon? We can all have some fun together.” He walked up to her, saw her black bra peeking out from beneath her shirt. “That’s a man’s shirt,” he realised, grabbing hold of it. “And it’s not mine. You’ve been with another guy. He was here tonight.”

“Yeah, it was Captain Marvel,” she said, pushing him away. “He flew out the window just as soon as he heard you were coming, because you scared him so bad.”

“You think you’re funny?” he said, grabbing her by the wrist. “I’m the funny one round here.”

“So how come you spend so much time slamming me around? Do you think that’s funny?”

He laughed, as he slapped her across the face, knocking her off balance, sending her reeling against the kitchen countertop, knocking a block of knives off onto the floor. “Yeah, I think it’s hilarious. I love slapstick, I love punchlines.” His fist met her face as she fell to the ground. “You’ve just got no sense of humour.”

“You beat it out of me,” she said, blood trickling from the side of her mouth.

“Baby, we're all here to have a good time.”

“Yeah,” agreed his entourage as one, with Ozzie clapping his short stubby hands together.

“I got to take a leak,” he said, stepping over her.

“Wish you dropped by earlier, Jack,” Harley said as he was leaving. “Then you could've met my boyfriend. Could've seen what a real man looks like.”

“Don’t make me laugh,” he said, leaving the room.

His friend Jon, the tall scrawny guy, walked over to her. “You don’t want to rile, Jack. Not with his temper.” He then added, in a whisper, “Though if you want I could scare him; I’m sure we could come to some arrangement.”

She grabbed a fallen knife off the floor and pointed it in his direction. “Shut up and keep your hands to yourself or I'll cut your little pecker off.”

“I've been told,” he said, backing off.

“Waugh, waugh, waugh,” laughed Ozzie. “That’s one Harley you won’t get to ride.”

****

“Hey, baby. I don't hear you making those calls…” Jack said, standing by the toilet, relieving himself. “Answer me... Oh, I don't need this grief.”

Bruce had been silent all this time, hiding in the shower, but now it was time for action. He pulled back the curtain, stepped out and grabbed Jack’s head, holding a blade to his face.

“Hi, I'm the god damn boyfriend and I'm out of my mind. You ever so much as talk to Harley again, you even think her name, and I'll cut you in ways that'll make you useless to a woman.”

“You're making a big mistake, man,” Jack said. “A big mistake.”

“Yeah? You already made a big mistake, yourself. You didn't flush.”

He shoved Jack’s head into the toilet bowl and held it there. Jack struggled, his limbs flailing about, while Bruce continued to hold his head down. Finally, Jack stopped moving and Bruce released him.

With a gasp, Jack jerked his head out of the toilet bowl, and got to his feet. He looked around in every direction, his wet hair flapping around, sending water everywhere, and pointed his gun, but he couldn’t see anyone. He joined the others, his head drenched.

“Troops. Get out of here. No questions, damn it, no questions. Now!”

Jack led them out of the apartment, while Harley, still lying on the floor, dropped her knife, and gave a sigh of relief.

****

Harley opened the window and looked down at Jack and his pals going to their car. They were rowdy and she could hear their shouting; they were going off to find some fun, she knew that meant trouble. She then noticed a familiar pair of black leather combat boots standing on the window ledge. She looked up and saw Bruce standing there, now fully clothed, with his dark trench coat fluttering in the wind.

“Bruce, what in the Devil did you do to him?”

“I just gave him a taste of his own medicine. I don't think he'll be bothering you again. How's your jaw?”

“I've been slapped around worse… I keep telling him I’m finished with him, but he just laughs. Don’t know why I hooked up with him in the first place, guess it was because he made me laugh. Boy, I've done some dumb things.”

“Seeing as how I'm one of those dumb things, I can't give you too hard a time about that, Harley. But this guy. He's a menace. He might kill somebody if I don't stop him. I'll call you later.” He leapt down into the night, his black coat billowing behind him as a flash of lightning ignited the air.

“No, don't go!”

****

Harley shouted something he couldn't quite make out over the thunder. It sounded like ‘Jack’s a monster’, but he couldn't be sure. It didn’t matter if Jack was a monster, Bruce still had to stop him and his pals from having their fun.

They were a pack of predators, and they were out for blood tonight.

A woman's blood.

He drove his black Caddy across the park to catch up with Jack, heading like a bat out of hell up the hill after him.

Then Bruce saw the cop in his rearview mirror.

He couldn’t afford to be pulled over; he might lose Jack and his pals.

Fortunately, Jack was driving even more erratically up ahead, as his car swerved around the road. The cop lost interest in Bruce, overtaking him and putting on his siren. Bruce felt relieved, it looked like the cop was going to do his work for him.

Jack’s speed increased, as the cop drew closer, and then Bruce’s gut tightened up as he realised where they were all heading. Jack was leading them straight to Pleasant Meadows.

The cop shut off his siren. He knew he wasn’t the law. Not in Pleasant Meadows.

The ladies were the law there. Beautiful and merciless. If you had the cash and played by the rules, they'd make all your fantasies come true, and give you plenty of new ones to dream about.

But if you crossed them, they were your worst nightmare.

****

Karen Page had left New York to become an actress, but her fortunes had plummeted and she’d ended up here in Sinville, though her job in Pleasant Meadows meant she still did plenty of acting. She was walking the street, when a car pulled up to her. The driver looked like he’d had his head stuck down a toilet.

“Hop in, sugar. We'll get you there,” he said to her.

“Aww, sweetheart. I work the day shift, and it's been a long day.” She looked at the driver and his passengers, a real rogues gallery. “Besides, I don't do group jobs.”

“Get in the car, baby.” The man smiled a big smile, his big teeth reminding her of a shark. “We'll just talk. It'll be nice.”

“I don't do talk jobs, either.”

“Baby doll, I've had me one hell of a bad day. I've been beat up every time I turn around. But the day I get turned down by a hooker, when I got good hard earned cash to pay with... well... there's only so much a man can take.”

****

Bruce had left his Caddy, when he saw Jack’s car stopping. Now he was listening to Jack talking to the blonde hooker, and he inched nearer, his back against a wall, clinging to the shadows. Suddenly he felt something wrap round his neck and he was pulled to the ground. He looked up and saw a woman kneeling down next to him, holding the end of a whip.

“That's far enough, Bruce. We've been on top of these jerks since they first showed up with that cop behind them. Everything's under control. Enjoy the show. A little game of cat and mouse.”

Her name was Selina, a vision in leather; she made grown men weak and weak men groan and she liked to call the shots. Bruce knew there was no use arguing with her; the ladies were their own enforcers.

“So how's the barmaid? You know, the one that never shuts up,” she said, loosening the whip.

“Not right now, Selina,” he said, his voice gravelly, as he rubbed his throat.

“Oooh, wound up a little tight, aren't we? That's your whole problem, Bruce, you worry too much. That and your lousy taste in women. These days, anyway. First that parole officer, old enough to be your mother, and now that barmaid.”

“Damn it, Selina. Not right now.”

“Those clowns, down the way. They some of the barmaid’s boyfriends?”

“One of them thinks he is. He's out of control. I followed them here to make sure he didn't hurt any of the girls.”

“Us helpless little girls?” she said playfully, running her cold gloved hand over his cheek.

All kinds of death was about to hit less than twenty yards ahead of them, and still it was hard to take his eyes off her.

“Us girls are as safe as can be, Lancelot,” she said, finally releasing him from the grip of her whip. “Those boys in that Chrysler are one mistake away from seeing what my assassin friend can do, and she's been aching for some practice.”

She guided his glance upward to the dame perched on the roof’s edge, the woman who put the ass and the sass and the sin into assassin. They called her Elektra.


	9. The Big Bad Day, Part Two

“You're running out of valley, cowboy,” the blonde girl warned them. “Turn around. Save yourself and your buddies a ton of grief.”

“You're a sassy little thing,” said Jack. “You ain't hardly in any kind of position to be making threats.”

Bruce watched as the scantily-clad girls of Pleasant Meadows silently fenced off the area. The trap was set. Locked and ready to spring. So what? Jack and his pals were scum. They deserved what was coming. So why this rotten feeling in his gut that something was awfully wrong?

Bruce turned to Selina. “They haven't killed anybody I know about. They got pretty bad at Harley's place but they didn't kill anybody.”

“And they won't,” Selina assured him.

Why this rotten feeling? Something Harley had said. He couldn't place it.

Back at the car, Jack was trying to moderate his behaviour. “Okay, Okay, Okay, I sounded off a little more than I should've. I'm a little on edge.”

“Over the edge”, the blonde said. “It's not a woman you need, it's a good night’s sleep. You couldn't handle a woman in the state you're in.”

“Waugh!” Ozzie laughed. “She’s saying you don't got what it takes, Jack.”

“Want me to put some fear into her?” Jon asked, reaching into his pocket.

“Jack can put fear into her,” said Eddie. “And more besides. If you don’t know that, you don’t know Jack.”

“You’ve been quiet tonight, Harv?” Jack said, turning to his friend. “What do you say?”

“I’m in two minds,” Harv replied, “let’s leave it to chance.” He tossed a coin, then looked at the result and smiled. “I say you go for it, Jack. Show her what you’ve got.”

Jack turned back to the girl. “You want to see it? You want to see what I got? Huh?”

“I've seen all shapes, all sizes.”

“Have you seen this one?” Jack said, drawing a huge gun. “Get in the car.”

The girl looked at him and shook her head in despair. “Oh, sugar. You just gone and done the dumbest thing in your whole life.”

A razor-edged shuriken came flying down from the sky and sliced through Jack’s wrist. His severed hand, still gripping the gun, fell to the ground.

As Jack, in shock, scrambled out of the car, looking for his gun, Elektra leapt down from the sky, her katana cutting through the car’s roof like it was butter, and then through the car’s inhabitants. There were screams, plenty of them, but she just kept cutting until the noise had stopped and she’d painted the ground red.

Jack was knelt on the ground, using his remaining hand and his mouth to prise the gun from his dismembered hand’s digits. Finally, he managed to detach the fingers from the gun, then, dropping his severed hand to the floor, he got to his feet. Elektra was standing there in front of him like an angel of death, her red dress covered in blood, her katana held nonchalantly by her side.

“Go ahead... Go ahead,” he said, as he aimed his gun at her. She circled him, her eyes boring into his.

From a distance, Bruce watched. “He's got the drop on her.”

“He's got squat,” Selina corrected him. She was good at correction. “He's dead, he's just too dumb to know it.”

Elektra moved faster around Jack, while he struggled to keep aim. “I got you... right where I want you. This is a career-ending wound, whore. There's going to be hell to pay.”

Bruce came up to him. “Watch your step, Jack.”

Jack turned to look at Bruce, accidentally stepping on his discarded hand. He slipped on it, and fell onto his rear end, landing on the shuriken that had chopped off his hand in the first place.

“That’s gotta hurt,” Bruce said, as Selina stepped up, her whip in hand.

“This isn't funny,” Jack said, getting up, the throwing star protruding from his butt. “Don't anyone laugh. I got friends you can't imagine. Every one of you is gonna burn.” He got to his feet, aiming his gun at Elektra.

“Hang it up, she's just playing with you,” Bruce warned. “You're only making it worse.”

“You shut the hell up,” Jack said, turning his head toward Bruce, not noticing Elektra throwing a metal rod into his gun barrel.

“Don't pull the trigger, she’s blocked the barrel,” Bruce said. “It'll backfire.”

“I told you to shut up,” Jack said, turning the gun on Bruce, and then Jack pulled the trigger and it backfired, the gun’s casing flying backwards, embedding itself in Jack’s head. He backed up against a garbage dumpster, then fell to the ground. “Can't see... I can't see... I can't hear anything...” And then, unable to cope any more, he burst into laughter, loud continuous uncontrollable laughter.

“For God’s sake, Elektra,” Bruce said, “finish him.”

“Yeah,” Selina said. “Make it quick, will you?”

Bruce saw Elektra swinging her katana at Jack’s neck. At first he thought she was going to chop Jack’s head off, but instead she cut his throat, silencing the laughter, and then, as his body twitched in its death throes, she sliced him a blood red smile, leaving the rest of his face to go ashen as the blood drained away from it.

Before the bodies were even cold, it was straight to business for the working girls, stretching the corpses on the alley floor and checking their pockets, digging up cash when they found it. Bruce didn’t need any cash, he was loaded and then some, but he still had that feeling in his gut. That feeling got even more intense when Selina came over, with a plastic bag that she’d found in one of the guy's pockets.

“What do you make of this?” she asked him. “Found it on... “ she looked at the credit card that she’d also taken from him, “Jonathan Crane.”

He took the bag from her and looked at the white powder insider. “Looks like drugs, and way more than could ever be used recreationally. Maybe he’s a dealer or-“ And then the truth hit him like a tsunami with a sledge hammer. Earlier that night, there was that thunder that kicked up such a racket he couldn't quite make out what Harley said. He’d thought Harley had said Jack was a monster, but he’d misheard her he realised now as the truth dawned on him. “Jack and his pals... they’re mobsters.”

It'd held for years, the shaky truce between the girls and the mob. Morgan Edge had been in charge of the place once, but then the girls had taken over. In return, Edge got a slice of the profits and free entertainment whenever he threw a party. If one of Edge’s men blundered into the neighborhood and he wasn’t shopping for what the girls were selling they sent him packing. But they sent him back alive. Those were the rules. That was the truce. The mob stayed out.

But all that time, Edge wanted to take the place back, all he needed was an excuse - he couldn’t sacrifice his men for no reason - but now he’d have that excuse. Pleasant Meadows would be left wide open. It'd be war. The streets would run red with blood - women's blood

The blonde hooker, Karen, overheard Bruce, realising with a shiver what she’d started. “They belonged to the mob? Things are going to go back to the way they used to be.”

“The hell they will,” Selina said. “We’ve got guns and swords and whips. We'll fight the mob and the cops and anybody else who tries to move in on us. We'll go to war.”

“Don't be stupid, Selina. You wouldn't stand a chance,” Bruce told her. “Get me a car. Make sure it's a hard top with a decent engine. I'll hide the bodies.”

“Did you forget that cop car that trailed them here?” Selina asked. “The cops know Napier came here, and Edge is bound to find out. He owns most, if not all, the cops in Smallville. They'll check the river, they'll check the sewer. They'll find him and then Edge will come gunning for us.”

“I know some place back in Gotham. Edge won't check there,” Bruce said. “Now get me a car!”

“Who do you think you are, giving orders?” Selina said, cracking her whip. “You got what you wanted out of us.”

“Shut up, Selina.”

“You got what you wanted out of me. And you were gone, off playing with that parole officer, then that barmaid. Gone until you brought this unholy mess on us.”

Elektra moved so she was standing right behind Bruce. He only heard her because she wanted him to; then he heard her draw her katana from its sheath. One word from Selina and she'd cut him in half.

“They'll be watching the roads,” Selina said, brandishing her whip in front of him. “They'll catch you. It'll be the bad old days, all over again. The pimps, the beatings, the drugs, the rapes.”

“They won't be watching the roads, not yet, they won't. Get me a damn hard top. If I don't make it, you can have your war. Get that whip out of my face, now.” He grabbed the whip out of her hand, as the girls all centered their weapons on him.

“Bastard!” Selina said. “I forgot how quick you are.”

She kissed him long, she kissed him hard. His warrior woman. She almost yanked his head clean off. Shoving his mouth into hers so hard it hurt; an explosion that blasted away the dull gray years between the now and that fiery night when she was his. He pulled his mouth away from hers. “A hard top, with a decent engine, and make sure it's got a big trunk,” he said, and then added, “I'll always love you, baby.”

“Always… And never.”

****

The dead lay on the ground, as a car appeared.

“Where'd you find that heap?” Bruce asked her, staring at the beat-up car in front of him. “Just look at that trunk. We'll never fit them all in.”

“Selina, Unless there's something else you want me to do, do you think maybe I could go home?” Karen said, her face pale. “All this blood and stuff's got me feeling like maybe I’m gonna hurl.”

“Sure, Karen, go home,” Selina said. “But don't you talk to anybody. Not even your mom.”

Meanwhile, Bruce crouched on the ground, looking at the corpses. “They'll never fit in that trunk. Not like this, they won't. Elektra?”

Elektra drew her katana.

“Dry your hair as soon as you get home,” Selina shouted after Karen. “You'll catch cold if you don't.”

Then she turned to see Elektra slicing the bodies.

“Yeesh,” Selina said.

****

Karen stood at the payphone, dialing a number, when Holly, dressed in a Zorro outfit, and Mia, dressed in far less, passed by.

“Hey, Karen,” Holly yelled. “Selina said no calls.”

“I just want to hear my mom's voice. I won't tell her nothing. Please, don't say nothing to Selina.”

Holly nodded, and the two girls passed Karen by.

“Hey, mom?” Karen said into the receiver, then looked over her shoulder to check Holly and Mia were out of earshot.

****

His car creaked along. He wished he’d used his Caddy, but that was too identifiable. What he really needed was a big car with no markings, built for speed, that could reach Gotham in a heartbeat, but where was he going to find one of those. If he wanted one, he’d have to build it himself.

No, he was stuck with this beat-up bucket of bolts for now; what were those dizzy dames thinking? They were barely able to get the trunk to stay closed as it was, they’d packed it so tight. There wasn't anything they could do but pile Jack in right next to him, out where anybody who cared to look would see him, with his white face and blood-red smile. Looked like it was going to be a long journey back to Gotham.

He took a plastic bag out of his pocket, the one containing the white powder. He opened the bag carefully, put a finger in it, and then tasted it. Nothing recognisable.

That’s when the snakes started leaping out of the road at him.

“Scary isn’t it, bud,” Jack said through his carved mouth. “That’s Jon’s stuff, you want to keep away from that.”

“You goddamn shut up, Jack. You're dead. I'm just imagining this, so goddamn shut up.”

Jack laughed a sinister laugh. “That tells you something about your state of mind, don't it? It's got you hearing things.”

“I'm fine, you goddamn shut up,” he said, swerving down the alleyway with the gunman shooting at him, pearls bouncing all over the road.

“Will you look at that? Those hookers let you down.” Bruce looked down at the gas indicator, running on empty. “What are you going to do when you run out of gas? Call Triple A? You sucker for the babes, you. You ain't even going to make it to Gotham.”

“You goddamn shut up. I'll make it. I’m god damn Bruce Wayne.”

“Not unless you keep your eyes on the road, sugar pie.”

Bruce turned his eyes to the road.

“Watch it!” Jack cried, as Bruce saw headlights, and swerved to avoid an oncoming car.

“Ah, this is great. Just like being in a buddy movie,” Jack said, as the swerving threw him against Bruce.

“Shut up!” Bruce yelled, pushing Jack away.

Then Bruce heard a siren, saw a police motorbike in the mirror.

“Boy, you're screwed. It's over. You're flushed,” Jack said and then burst out laughing.

This time Bruce couldn't bring himself to tell Jack to shut up. Sure he was a jerk. Sure he was dead. Sure Bruce was just imagining that he was talking. None of that stopped Jack from being absolutely right.

He didn't have a chance in hell of outrunning this cop. Not in this heap.

The cop drew level. “Pull over!”

Bruce couldn’t risk the cop finding out who he was carrying, couldn’t risk word getting back to Edge.

“I don't know what to do,” Bruce said.

“You better stop. You're making him mad.”

“Whatever you say.”

Bruce slammed on the brake, and Jack slumped forward, face down.

The cop pulled up, got out of his car, and walked over to Bruce’s rust bucket. Bruce rolled down the window, and the cop shined his torch in, seeing the slumped figure in the passenger seat. “Your friend here… party a little too hard tonight?”

“I'm the designated driver.”

“Well, you're driving with a busted tail light.”

Bruce wondered if he’d have to take care of the cop.

“I'll let you off with a warning,” the cop added, and then left Bruce and went back to his car.

What next? Bruce wondered, but then he realised, with some relief, that Jack was no longer talking. He took a deep breath of the warm night air to clear his lungs, and then set off on his way again. Maybe he could make it through this big bad day after all.

****

He was back home, or at least under it, down in the caves beneath Wayne Manor.

The tank had gone dry a quarter mile from there. Bruce had shoved the T-Bird the rest of the way. A few minutes more work and it'd all be over. Jack would be thrown into one of the cave’s many chasms, and his manservant Alfred would chauffeur Bruce back to Sinville. He could go home and call it a -

Suddenly he felt something smashing into the side of his head. Falling to the ground, he saw what had done the damage lying there, a nunchuck. Out of the corner of his eye, a ninja jumped from the cave’s shadows, just before everything went black.


	10. The Big Bad Day, Part Three

The blinds cast horizontal shadows over Selina Kyle, who was standing in her apartment, talking on the phone. “No more questions, Holly. Do what I say. Clear the streets. We're on lockdown. We're not selling any tail in Pleasant Meadows. Not tonight.”

She’d no sooner put the phone down than a huge shadow fell over her from behind and large arms wrapped themselves round her. She tried to push them away but they were too strong. She felt hands moving around her neck.

“Don't struggle,” said a voice from behind her, as she was lifted off the ground. “You'll only hurt yourself. Your cause is lost. I know everything. Soon the corpse of Jack Napier will be in my possession and the truce between your prostitutes and the mob will be shattered. There'll be deaths, deaths and more deaths, and then, with your forces and Edge’s depleted, I’ll take over, take over from Edge, take over this neighbourhood. You will all be slaves. Nothing can stop this. But it is within your power to save many lives, just surrender Pleasant Meadows.”

The stranglehold was released as Selina was thrown to the ground, but somehow she landed on her feet. “Son of a bitch. I’ve read about you,” Selina said, finally seeing her attacker. “You’re from New York... they call you The Kingpin.”

“I see my reputation precedes me,” he said, flexing his mountainous shoulders. “Yes, I’m in charge of the New York underworld, and soon I will be in charge of Smallville too, and then you and all your wretched kind will serve me. Now get dressed and shed a tear for Bruce Wayne if you must, because, by now, he is surely dead.”

“You don't know him. My man will find a way. He always finds a way.”

****

Bruce Wayne lay on the floor of the cave, cold stone against his face. He couldn’t remember how long he’d been unconscious, but it couldn’t have been that long, his head wound was still hurting like hell.

He stared out through a half-open eyelid, and saw six ninjas walking towards him, their footsteps silent on the ground. One against six, Bruce liked those odds.

His legs swung up in the air and he jumped to his feet, then, before the ninjas even had time to react, he’d grabbed the nunchucks that had been lying next to him.

“This is my goddamn cave,” he said, flinging the nunchucks into the face of one ninja, then leaping into the air and kicking two of the others. The fourth one sent a shuriken his way, but Bruce managed to pull the fifth one into its path and then punched the sixth ninja across the cave.

Bruce was relying on instinct and skill and he had those in spades, but the ninjas had the numbers and were resilient and fought back. Bruce recognised the fighting style. These weren’t just any ninjas, these six. They worked for The Hand. And if they were hired by who he thought they were, the bad times hadn't even started yet.

Bruce had been trained by the best in the world, and he could have beaten them individually, but working together they kept driving him further amd further back, until finally one flying kick blasted him through the air, sending him falling into the chasms below. His hand shot out and grabbed a rocky outcrop on the way down, stopping his fall; shards of pain ran down through his shoulder but he managed to hang on. Helpless, he hung there, his fingers struggling to keep a grip.

He had to concentrate, ignore the pain in his shoulder, pay attention to what was happening above. Ninjas were never the easiest people to eavesdrop on, but he heard Jack’s body being dragged out of his car, and then nothing, and then, from far away, the sound of a car engine being started. He wasn’t sure if all of the ninjas had left or just some of them, and it didn’t really matter now as Bruce felt his fingers going numb, and then, one by one, they started to lose their hold on the rock.

Nothing to do now but fall. They were counting on him, and he’d blown it.

For a moment he felt himself falling, and then he stopped.

Skinny, steely fingers at his wrist. He looked up and saw Elektra hanging upside down from a piece of rope. He looked into her eyes, and saw the same emptiness he felt inside, looked at her body and saw something that had been perfected over a lifetime. They had a lot in common. Elektra, she was an angel and a saint, and if she’d shown up minutes earlier, they'd have still had Jack's body.

She hauled him up onto the cave floor, and as he rubbed his sore torn shoulder, wiped blood from his head wound, he saw the bloodied bodies of three of the ninjas she’d discarded there.

At that moment, a secret door opened in the side of the cave and his butler Alfred walked out.

Alfred looked at the bodies, and the blood-soaked athletic lady dressed in red carrying a katana. "Sorry to interrupt your fun, Master Bruce, but you have visitors. Two ladies of the nocturnal persuasion; your parents would be so proud. May I assume that was the reason for your talking about having a pole installed here?”

“Spare the goddamn sarcasm, Alfred, and show them in.”

“Very well, Master Bruce, and I have to admire the way you say goddamn, it makes you seem ever so grown up.”

“Goddamn butler,” Bruce muttered under his breath, as Alfred showed in two girls, Holly and Lana. Holly was dressed in her Zorro outfit, Bruce tried not to let his mind go back to a movie theatre on a night long ago. He shouldn’t feel sorry for himself just because he had dead parents, Lana thought that was just him being attention-seeking.

“Lana? I’d heard you were dead.”

“Lana is dead,” explained the Lana Lang lookalike. “It’s me, Tina Grier, the shapeshifter, but I’ve become Lana now. Some people you just can’t let die.”

“Bruce,” interrupted Holly, “they’ve got Selina!”

Bruce contemplated this latest piece of the puzzle. “You’ve got yourself a spy in Pleasant Meadows, a stoolie who sold you out to the mob. We’ve got to find out who it is and rescue Selina. But first we’ve got to get our hands on Jack's body before it gets to wherever it's going and this whole situation blows wide open. Elektra, I hope to hell you left one of them alive enough to talk.”

She pointed up amongst the stalactites above. Hanging from one of them was a ninja, who she lowered down.

Bruce let the ninja know he wasn’t fooling around, trying all his tricks to show he meant business - his goddamn cursing, his husky voice like just after Selina’s whip had been round his throat - he’d have even wore that leather mask that Selina kept wanting him to wear if he’d have thought it would get a response. But no, there no was response, he’d talked to The Hand but The Hand wasn’t listening.

Elektra decided to take over; she didn’t have Bruce’s conscience holding her back. Bruce would have been worrying whether the guy had a family, a son, whether the cycle of violence would claim yet another innocent victim, but Elektra had no such concerns, she just wanted answers and fast.

It didn’t take long, not long at all, before the guy sang like a canary, though several octaves higher, and once he’d spilled his guts, she spinned her katana in her hand, wondering whether to spill them all again.

****

The ninja had told them where Jack’s body was being taken and Alfred had taken care of Bruce’s wounds. Now Bruce had to stay smart and stay cool. It was time to prove to his friends that he was worth a damn. Sometimes that meant dying. Sometimes it meant killing a whole lot of people.

Holly had her foot down, cutting corners, taking shortcuts, desperate to find and head off the car carrying Jack’s body. Bruce yelled out directions, using routes in Gotham only the locals knew, while Elektra and Tina stayed quiet in the back. Finally, as her bumpy car bound over a field, they found what they were looking for.

“There they are,” Holly said, pointing to a car roaring down a road at the edge of the field. “What do we do?” Holly asked.

“We stop them, Holly.”

Holly nodded, and rammed her car straight into the side of theirs, sending it swerving into the next field. Bruce leaped out of the car, and ran over, just as one of the ninjas was dragging Jack’s body out of the car.

Holly exited the car, guns blazing, but a wave of shurikens embedded themselves in her neck, and blood spurted out, colouring her dead before she’d reached the ground.

While one of the ninjas, having dispatched Holly, now faced Bruce and the others, ready to fight to his and their deaths, the other ninja carried Jack’s body over his shoulder and headed for the highway.

The first ninja adopted a fighting stance, threw out a stream of shurikens, and then drew out a sword which he waved menacingly.

Bruce would have punched the guy’s lights out, but, before he had the chance to, Elektra had leapt in the air and thrown her own large shirukin decapitating the ninja, leaving him standing there headless, his sword at the ready.

That’s when two nunchucks, thrown by the other ninja, made contact with her in the air, wrapping themselves around her, binding her tight, and sending her plummeting to the hard ground below.“

Bruce didn’t know if Elektra was alive or dead but he didn’t care; either way he wanted revenge. He ran towards the ninja just as the dark figure disappeared with Jack into the ground below.

Bruce rushed to the highway and saw the open manhole. This was bound to be a trap, but he wasn’t planning on dying today.

****

The ninja was standing there waiting, and when he saw Bruce Wayne leap down the manhole, and splash into the water below, he was ready. His foot flew out, smashing straight into the jaw, knocking his adversary out cold. It had all been too easy, he thought, as he saw Bruce Wayne’s body floating face down in the water. No, his opponent must be bluffing, it was time to deliver the death blow.

And that’s when Bruce Wayne’s body suddenly transformed into that of a teenage girl, and there was another Bruce Wayne dropping at him through the manhole cover.

“Her name’s Tina,” explained Bruce, in amongst a rapid flurry of punches to his face. “She can look like anyone. Even me.”

As the pummeling continued, the ninja decided he hated his job, and then his legs gave way beneath him and he fell into the murky water next to Tina’s body... just as the ninja had planned.

He put one of his shurikens next to Tina’s throat and then got back to his feet, as Bruce looked on helplessly.

But it wasn’t the girl who Bruce was looking at, the ninja realised, as he looked down and saw the blood-red tip of a sai jutting out of his own chest.

Elektra the assassin was behind him. He wouldn't feel a thing unless she wanted him to.

She twisted the blade. He felt it.

That was the last thing he felt.

****

Once they’d carried Tina’s unconscious body and Jack’s dead one back to the car, Bruce told Elektra what they were going to do and how they were going to do it.

He grabbed poor Holly's car phone and made the most important call of his life. Bruce hated guns, but this was a big bad day and sometimes you had to fight fire with fire.

First they had to rescue Selina, then came the kill. The big fat kill.


	11. The Big Bad Day, Part Four

Selina Kyle was tied to a chair. Tied tight. And she wasn’t being paid for it and she didn’t have a safeword, not one she’d be willing to say. The Kingpin ‘s hands were pushing hard against the sides of her head, manipulating her pressure points. Her cranium felt like it was about to explode, as crunching sounds filled the silence, but she couldn’t surrender; she was ready to die first.

In front of them, two of The Kingpin’s goons looked on, one in normal street clothes, the other dressed in a one-piece black skintight outfit with bullseye symbols on the head and chest.

“Do we just gotta stand here and watch this?” Turk asked Bullseye.

“What, are you kidding me, man?” Bullseye asked. “I could watch old man Fisk do his thing all night long, and not get tired of it. I mean, the man's an artist.”

“Only an artist should be allowed to touch such a beautiful subject,” the Kingpin said, looking down at Selina, flinching beneath his touch. “Your skin is perfect. Your nerves... responsive. Beautiful.”

“Just give them what they want, Selina,” Karen Page said, appearing at the doorway.

Selina looked over at the blonde prostitute, as The Kingpin relaxed his grip on Selina and backed away. “Karen?”

“It's over, Selina,” Karen said, trying to reason with Selina. “There's no fighting them. Bruce is dead. They’ve got that mobster we killed. Kingpin’s going to turn him over to Edge, his men are going to mow us down. We’ve got to cut a deal.”

“You little bitch. You sold us out.”

“I didn't have no choice. The Kingpin was going to hurt my mom. You’ve got to cut a deal with him. It’s selfish, you holding out like this. You're going to get a lot of girls killed for no good reason.”

“It wasn't your mom. We could've protected her, and you know it.”

“Sure, you could've moved my mom into Pleasant Meadows and let her know that her daughter’s a goddamn whore.”

“Breaks your heart, doesn't it?” Turk said to Bullseye, as they watched the drama unfold.

“What did he offer you, Karen?” Selina asked. “Money? Or are you back on heroin?”

“They offered me what you could never offer me - a way out,” Karen said, striding over to Selina, and leaning in front of her. “I had to watch out for my own neck,” she explained.

“Your neck. Your precious, scrawny, little neck.” Selina rocked her chair towards Karen, and bit into her neck, tearing off a chunk of skin.

“You're crazy,” Karen said, pulling away, her hand clasping her jugular. “You could've ripped my throat out, you crazy whore.”

The Kingpin walked over, and his big hand slapped Selina square in the face, sending her and her chair flying across the room.

“Turk, fetch my cigars,” The Kingpin ordered. Selina wasn’t sure if he needed a smoke, or he was going to try burning her next; either way he’d be decreasing his life expectancy. “Bullseye, kill this one,” he casually added, looking at Karen Page.

“No, I was promised...” Karen said, fear in her eyes.

“Stupid little bitch. You deserve worse,” Selina said from the floor.

“I knew there was a reason I got out of bed this morning,” Bullseye said, a big smile on his face, as he thought about what to use as a weapon. The smile was suddenly replaced by a quizzical glance as he felt something hit his back, and then he stared down and saw a blade coming out of the bullseye in his chest.

Bullseye looked down. “Hey, someone scored a bullseye.”

Turk and The Kingpin’s other men, armed with guns, looked out of the open window. “Nobody, I don't see nobody.”

Selina knew who’d thrown the weapon; she recognised it immediately, Elektra’s weapon of choice. For Selina it was the whip, men would fall at her feet when she fluttered her lash, but, for Elektra, only sais mattered.

“Look at that!” Bullseye said. “It's right through me! Guys, look!”

“There's something wrapped around the handle,” Turk said, looking behind Bullseye. “Some kind of note.”

“Give it to me,” The Kingpin ordered.

“It’s poked right through me,” Bullseye continued to point out. “Guys, look.”

The Kingpin opened the note. It read: “Jack’s body for Selina’s life. Out back. Your pal, Bruce.”

“It’s starting to really hurt,” Bullseye said.

“Out back, everyone,” The Kingpin said, “and bring the women.”

“Do you think somebody should call me a doctor or something?” Bullseye asked. “Hey! Guys?” But no one was listening; they all just trooped out, leaving him standing there alone.

Still, he was lucky to be alive, lucky that the sai had hit the bullseye on his chest and not the one on his forehead. That was the last thing to go through his mind, followed immediately afterwards by Elektra’s second sai. His mouth opened wide, screaming his last scream, and then his body stumbled around, finally lurching toward the open window.

*****

It was dark. It was night. It was a dark night. Bruce Wayne stood at the end of a narrow dimly-lit alley, memories from a night long ago buzzing in his head.

At the other end were The Kingpin and his men. Dozens of them. Armed to the teeth. He was outnumbered, outgunned. But the alley was crooked, dark, and very narrow. They couldn't surround him. Sometimes strategy was everything; you could beat the odds with a careful choice of where to fight.

Over his shoulder, he was carrying Jack’s limp body. “You can have Pleasant Meadows. I don't care. Just give me the woman.”

Jack mumbled something to Bruce.

“Shut up,” Bruce mumbled back.

“Bruce. Don't do this,” Selina said.

“Hey, wait a minute. I thought I heard Jack say some-,” Karen started. At which point, she heard a noise above her, and looked up to see Bullseye’s body falling at her from the open window above. She saw his mouth, still frozen in a scream, and then he smashed straight into her, his teeth entering her skull, and it was all over.

Turk grimaced, and took a step away from the dead bodies.

“Of course, Mr. Wayne. A fair trade. She's all yours,” The Kingpin said, ignoring the corpses close by.

His men released Selina, and she walked over to Bruce, clasping him tightly. Bruce dropped Jack on the ground and then he and Selina started to back away.

“Now if you'll explain why we shouldn't blow both of you to pieces,” The Kingpin said.

“Bruce, what have you done?” Selina said.

“Exactly what I had to...” Bruce said, “every step of the way.”

“Maybe I can explain why you shouldn’t blow them to pieces,” came a voice from the ground. With a grunt, Jack’s corpse pushed itself up, and got to its feet. “Call me crazy, but I’m feeling a lot better now.” And with that, he pulled out an uzi, and started firing at The Kingpin’s stunned men, and then his laughing features turned to Lana Lang’s. She continued laughing as her gun finally silenced and she walked away from the men.

“I suggest you leave now,” Bruce warned them, “while you still can.”

“Cute trick, Mr. Wayne,” said The Kingpin, backing away, “but it will do you no good.” As he made his escape, his remaining men, now back to their senses, drew their guns, all of them aimed at Bruce Wayne.

Bruce just glanced upwards, as did the eyes of The Kingpin’s men as they now realised they’d walked into a trap.

Where Bruce and Selina were fighting counted a lot, but there was nothing like having your friends show up with lots of weapons. All along the alley wall stood a bevy of beautiful floozies with uzis. The girls opened fire. They all knew the score. No escape. No surrender. No mercy.

They got to kill every last one of The Kingpin’s men. Every last one. Not for revenge. Not because they deserved it. Not because it'd make the world a better place. They needed a heap of bloody bodies so that when The Kingpin looked over his charts of profits and losses, he'd see what it cost him to mess with the girls of Pleasant Meadows.

The valkyrie at Bruce’s side was shouting and laughing with the pure hateful bloodthirsty joy of the slaughter.

And so was he. Once upon a time gunfire would make him flinch, but not now.

She pulled his body to hers and wrapped her legs round his waist, as he thrust his mouth against hers. The fire between them would burn them both. There was no place in this world for their kind of fire

His warrior woman. His valkyrie. She’d always be his. Always... and never.


	12. That Mellow Bastard, Part Two

Jonathan Kent wasn’t sure if he was alive or dead. He sure felt dead, and if that was the case, he must have gone to Hell, because Lionel Luthor was there. Things came more into focus, and Jonathan realised he was lying in a hospital bed, with Lionel standing at the foot of it.

“Officer Jonathan Kent,” the corrupt billionaire began, “I’m sure I don't have to introduce myself, after all, I do own this town. I own most of the people too; what a shame you wouldn’t play along. I dragged your friend Jack back to Smallville, hoped he’d talk some sense into you.”

Jonathan struggled to say something, but he was still too weak. He’d just have to lie there, listen to Lionel’s words, when what he really wanted to do was punch his lights out.

“I even looked at your medical records, saw that you had the beginnings of a heart condition. Talked Doc McIntyre into lying to you, telling you you’d have to retire, giving you pills that made things worse. Despite all those obstacles you still robbed my son of his destiny, almost blew his arm off. He's in a coma right now, they say he may never come out of it. Lex could have been the first Luthor to become President of the United States, but you turned him into a brain-damaged freak. How’s that supposed to make me feel?”

Jonathan wanted to say something to Lionel, assure him it was all personal, but he had to make do with just a smile.

“Pulling that trigger make you feel powerful?” Lionel continued. “You have no idea of power. I pull all of the strings in this town, and I could just cut your strings now and walk out of here a free man. Everyone would lie for me, everyone who counts. Otherwise all their own lies, everything that runs Smallville, it all comes tumbling down like a pack of cards. But I want you firm, fit, and healthy. You're going to keep living a long time, I'm going to make sure of that. You're going to be convicted of raping the Sullivan child, and shooting my son.”

Jonathan wondered about Lex’s other victims, the two boys and a girl; he wondered who Lionel had framed for that, maybe that first boy’s uncle. Not that it mattered; since Lionel had taken charge of the town, prison was one of the safer places to be.

“As for Martha,” Lionel said, “you might want to keep the truth from her. It would be a shame for her to disappear, not when she has so much potential. I really think this should remain between you and me.”

Jonathan understood. No one else could know the truth.

He’d lost it all, but most importantly he’d lost Martha, maybe he was in Hell after all.

****

His next visitor was eleven-year-old Chloe Sullivan. She entered Jonathan’s hospital room and walked over to his bed.

“They won't let me testify,” she told him. “I told the cops that you saved my life and they just acted like I was crazy. They talked my parents into keeping me away. They said that you did things that you didn't do. I told them that you saved me from that Luthor creep. But they won't even check me out to see if I'm still a virgin... I am still a virgin, still alive, thanks to you. They got it all backwards.”

Jonathan looked down at the skinny little girl by his bedside. His throat was dry, but he managed to speak, “Sometimes, the truth doesn't matter like it ought, but you'll always remember things, right? That's going to mean a lot to me.” Then he added, “Stay away, Chloe. They'll kill you if you don't stay away. Don't visit me, don't write me, don't even say my name.” He could see the sadness in her eyes as he said the words, but he had to make sure she was safe.

“Maybe you won't let me visit, but I'll still write to you, Jonathan,” she said. “I'll sign my letters ‘Nancy’. It's the name of a really cool detective in books I read. I'll write to you every week. For forever.”

“Sure kid. Now run on home. It's not safe for you here.”

Skinny little Chloe Sullivan turned from him, and walked away. She stopped in the doorway and turned her head back to him, a tear in her eye.

“Bye, Chloe,” Jonathan said.

“I love you,” she told Jonathan, and then she left.

****

Jonathan wasn’t sure how long he was in hospital for, but as soon as he was well again, he found himself in an interrogation room; cuffed to a chair. It was the old good cop, bad cop routine, but unfortunately he was the good cop. Another punch hit him in the face, then another, then another.

The bad cop was his old boss, Sheriff Ethan Miller, who’d never been one to pull his punches.

“Jonathan Kent, Mr. Law and Order, Mr. By the Book, Mr. High and Mighty,” Ethan said, using his fists as punctuation. “I got to give you credit. Being such a straight arrow for so damn many years without it catching up with you. It's catching up with you now, friend of mine. It's catching up with you but good.” He threw one final punch, with all his might.

Jonathan’s mouth was filled with blood, his head hung down. There were some punches he just couldn’t roll with.

“Maybe I oughta look at him,” said a shapely brunette standing at the door in a tight white nurse’s outfit. “He doesn't look too good.”

“He's hale and hearty, Helen. See?” Ethan said, lifting Jonathan’s bloodied face up. “He's a picture of health.” Ethan turned his attention back to Jonathan, “That’s Nurse Bryce there. She's fine, isn't she? I rented her out of Pleasant Meadows. I want to show you what you won't be getting any of. Not in prison. You hear me, Jonathan? You stop being stupid. Start playing along with us, you just might get some of Helen...”

Jonathan looked over at the girl. He knew Ethan was using her to taunt and torture him, but it just made him think of Martha and how much he’d miss her, especially when she wore those Daisy Duke shorts. The girl, on the other hand, saw the way Jonathan was staring at her, and turned her head away.

“You see that?” Ethan said. “She flinched. You make her sick. She heard about you and that little girl.”

Jonathan ignored Ethan; he didn’t know how many more hours the punching and the taunting would go on, but it didn’t matter, he wasn’t going to crack. This was nothing but a price Jonathan had promised himself he'd pay, and he was paying it. You didn't save a little girl's life, and then turn around and throw her to the dogs. Not in his book, you didn't. They wanted a confession. They wouldn't get it.

****

There was a letter from Chloe when they put him in solitary. She called herself ‘Nancy’. She made no mention of anything that would give herself away. At first, he figured she'd send another note or two before her young mind moved on to better things but, every Thursday, another arrived. What a sweet kid. He did his best to keep his hand from shaking when he reached for it. She was the only friend he had, the daughter he never had, his sweet ‘Nancy’. Skinny little Chloe Sullivan.

****

Ten years passed.

Then came a Thursday when he bound from his cot, excited as a kid at Christmas, only to find himself staring at the damn floor of his damn cell, looking for a letter from Chloe that wasn't there. Then another Thursday with no letter.

Was she alright? Had something happened to her?

He carried on waiting, still nothing. Two months later. Not a word from Chloe

Had they found her? Had they got to her?

Of course not. He just had to do the math. Chloe was twenty-one years old now. How long did he expect her to keep writing?

She’d been a saint to keep it up as long as she did.

Now she'd forgotten him.

He was alone. He was all alone

****

He woke up to see a bald man, glowing green, sitting on his bed.

The guy smelled awful, like bad food. Like a corpse left in a garbage dumpster in the middle of summer. Like regurgitated vomit. He stank so bad, Jonathan wanted to throw up.

The green man got up, as did Jonathan, as they looked into each other’s eyes, both of them silent. And then the guy punched Jonathan hard, and everything went black.

He practically knocked Jonathan’s head off, the bastard.

When he came to, Jonathan saw it.

The same kind of envelope Chloe always used.

But there was no letter inside of it, just something soft. Something that ought to be alive. A hunk of meat and bone that ought to be the index finger of the right hand of a twenty-one year old girl.

How the hell had they found her? She’d been so careful. She’d never given away where she lived or where she worked.

He had to get out. He had to help. Nothing else mattered.

Not his life, and not his pride either.

It was only one final surrender they wanted. Lionel Luthor had finally beaten him.

He said everything the parole board wanted to hear, just the way they wanted to hear it. He told them he was a twisted, wretched child molester. He agreed to everything they wanted from him and they let him go. Just like that.

He knew Lionel was behind it all. Maybe he was happy that Jonathan had finally admitted defeat, but maybe he just wanted him out so he could see what they’d done to Chloe, so that he’d know that nobody was beyond Lionel Luthor’s reach.

****

It was snowing outside, as Jonathan walked out of the large prison gates, carrying a suitcase with his whole life in it, and saw his old partner, Jack Jennings, there, resting against a police car.

“It's a lot of miles into town, Jonathan, you care for a ride?”

“As long as you stay in front of me.”

“Prison's made you paranoid,” Jack said. “Talk about water under the bridge. Christ. Ten years.”

“Yeah, ten years.”

***

From a distance, a bald green figure was sitting in a car, spying on the reunion; looking forward to a reunion of his own.

****

“Well, if it's any consolation for you,” Jack said, “you made me hate myself.”

Jack got into the car, followed by Jonathan and they set off.

“Any word from Martha?”

“She became a parole officer.”

“That’d make her father happy. Any kids?”

“No, she saw plenty of guys, some Wayne kid, Lionel Luthor...” Jack looked over and saw the anger and hurt in Jonathan’s eyes, “but nothing came of any of it. Guess none of them matched up to you.”

Jonathan remained silent, lost in his thoughts.

“I tried getting in touch with her,” continued Jack. “She wasn’t answering. Can’t blame her... I'm sorry, Jonathan.”

“Don't be, I'm glad. I’m sure Martha's a great parole officer, hope she has a happy long life. Like you said, Jack. Water under the bridge. How about you? Surprised you’re still a cop. Thought you had higher aspirations."

“Yeah, after I betrayed you, Lionel said he’d help me start a political career, but that all nosedived when I was caught having an affair with this dancer. I’m sorry, Jonathan, should never have let Lionel use me against you.”

“If not you, he’d have just used someone else. More water under the bridge.”

And then Jonathan fell silent, as the car continued through the white landscape.

****

As they drove through the snow, the only thing that Jonathan could think of was Chloe. He didn’t even notice the car following behind them, or the green figure in the driving seat.

****

Jack and Jonathan finally arrived at their destination and said their farewells. Then Jonathan went looking for the only human being on the planet that still meant a damn to him: Chloe. How could they have found out it was her writing all those letters to him? How did they find out who she was? And what had they done to her?

There was only one Chloe Sullivan listed in the Smallville phone book. When he made his way to her address, the door was already open, things lying in disarray on the floor.

Not a sound. No sign of life.

Had Lionel Luthor gone through all this trouble to torture him? Like a kid poking at a fly when he'd already torn its wings off? What had he done to Chloe?

And then he came across the wall, pictures posted on it from long ago, him, Lex Luthor, the victims, all with lines joining them, and then it spread out with lines like a spider web, taking in more people, seeming to include everyone in Sinville. It was like a whole wall of weird, what madman could have done this?

Apart from that, all Jonathan found were various laptops, all password-protected. It was like she spent all her time on the net. No diary. No phone numbers or addresses written down anywhere. Closest thing to a clue was a pack of matches from a place called The Talon; a bar with broads and booze and more broads. Don’t say somebody had reopened that old movie theatre.

It was a long shot, but maybe she had some friends there.

****

He walked from the cold night outside, into The Talon.

A dead end.

Chloe wouldn't have had anything to do with a pack of drunks and losers like this. But if there was anything to be found there, the faintest lead to wherever Chloe was or whoever kidnapped her or mutilated her, this was the place.

“Excuse me, Miss. I'm wondering if you could help me,” he asked a blonde waitress, wearing a red and black outfit. “I'm looking for somebody.”

She gave him a crazy smile. “Well, a night like this, everybody's looking for somebody, stranger.”

“It's not like that. Her name is Chloe.”

“Eyes to the stage, pilgrim. She's just warming up”

He looked to the bar and saw a blonde in a skimpy cowboy outfit cavorting on it, swinging a lasso around and gyrating her hips. His eyes took in every inch of her and every inch of her stood out a mile. The flesh was thrilling, the body was sleek.

Chloe Sullivan, twenty-one years old; and here he was expecting a skinny little bookworm, maybe a bit too shy for her own good. How little she told him about herself in all her letters, for all those years.

Skinny little Chloe Sullivan. She’d grown up. She’d filled out.


	13. That Mellow Bastard, Part Three

All eyes were on Chloe Sullivan as she lit up the Talon like a Roman candle, her taut body tantalizing and tempting and teasing while her lasso whirled around her. All the losers were ogling her - a big guy drinking milk, an angular-faced guy with a big grin, an intense-looking guy sitting alone at a table, Jonathan himself.

How the hell had they found her? Then it hit him as he saw Chloe still had all her fingers - they were bluffing. No wonder they’d let him out of prison so easy, it was all a ploy; he’d led them straight to her.

He looked around the bar, searching for Luthor’s men, and spotted that same green guy that he’d seen in his cell. He was at a corner table dressed all in black, trying to look as inconspicuous as a green guy could. By the side of the table, in his gloved hand, he was holding a Beretta M92F. He clearly didn’t mind Jonathan seeing it; he probably wanted him to.

Chloe hadn't spotted Jonathan yet. All he had to do was turn around and walk out the door, lead the green creep outside, get that Beretta away from him somehow, and kill him. Jonathan was just a horny ex-con watching an exotic dancer, that’s what the guy would think. Just a few seconds and he’d be out of the door, and she'd be safe.

He willed Chloe not to notice him, not to recognize him, as he made his way through the bar. But as he reached the door, he couldn’t resist the urge to look back at her, one last time. That was when their eyes met, Chloe smiled a big toothsome smile, and he realized it was too late as she flung her lasso at him, and pulled him towards her, then leaped off the stage and ran up to him, wrapping herself round him, pushing her lips against his.

He pulled her off, the lasso falling away from him. “There's no time to explain, Chloe. I've made a terrible mistake. I’ve put you in terrible danger. We need to get out of here. Right this second.”

“Whatever you say, Jonathan,” Chloe said. “Let me throw some clothes on, pick up my laptop.”

“Okay,” he said, and she started to set off to a back room, but then she turned around.

“And here I'd figured you'd forgotten all about me,” she said. “Me and my dumb letters.”

“They kept me going. Kept me from killing myself,” Jonathan said, but then he put a rein on his emotions. “Hurry up, will you?”

She winked at him, and then rushed away to get dressed.

****

Now dressed to face the elements, Chloe Sullivan accompanied Jonathan outside, into the snow, and then to her car, parked nearby.

“Maybe I should drive,” he said, his hand out ready to take her keys.

“Not a chance. Nobody but me can keep this heap running,” she said, and got in the car. As he climbed into the passenger seat, she added, “Besides from the sounds of things, you might have to shoot somebody.”

“I don't have a gun,” he said.

“Sure felt like one. Guess you’re just pleased to see me,” she said, her eyes widening to match her smile. Jonathan blushed and frowned. “Under the seat.” He looked under. “It's loaded and it works.”

He pulled out the Ruger Blackhawk and examined it, spinning the barrel. “This'll do.”

“Taken it to the range a couple times. Kicks like a mule,” Chloe said, then paused. “Jonathan? There's so much I've wanted to say to you. You’ve never been far from my thoughts. I've lain awake nights, thinking about you.”

This caught Jonathan by surprise. He pondered what to say, grappled for the right words, but, before he could say what he wanted to say, there was the sound of a gunshot and the rear window cracked. Through the spider web of the glass he could see the car behind.

“Keep driving, Chloe. Keep driving and keep the car on the road.”

The green guy was following along after them, firing his gun.

Jonathan knew Chloe was counting on him. He pushed the passenger door open, and leaned out, using the open door for support, as he pointed his gun at the car behind.

“What are you doing?” she yelled.

He was proving he was still worth a damn.

“Try to keep it on the road, Chloe,” he yelled, as the car skidded from side to side in the snow.

The green guy was a decent shot. He’d got skill, but he was in too much of a hurry, throwing away bullets like they were junk mail. Finally, he ran out and had to reload. The guy didn't know how to take his time. Jonathan did, his father Hiram had taught him well; aim careful and look the devil in the eye.

Jonathan patiently waited till he could aim properly, get a decent shot, and then he pulled the trigger. It paid off, hitting the guy in the side of the neck. It didn’t blow his head off, but it was enough for now. Green blood poured from the guy’s neck, as his car careened off the road, through a fence, and into the waiting blankets of snow in the adjacent field.

Jonathan pulled himself back into the car. “Stop the car, Chloe. I've got to confirm the kill.”

“What?”

“Stop the car. Now!”

“Right. Stop the car. Confirm the kill.” Her car skidded to a halt. “Sorry, I’m a bit new to all of this shooting people thing. I tend to specialise in snarkiness and eroticism. Don’t suppose there’s a Dummies’ Guide.”

“It's okay. You did great. Sit tight. I'll be right back.” He started to open the door.

“No. Let me stay close,” she pleaded, her voice quavering. “Nothing can happen to me when I'm with you. Please, Jonathan, let me stay close.”

****

They found the car wreckage, and traces of his blood.

It stank. Jonathan almost gagged. The green guy’s blood smelled even worse than he did, and it was all over the place.

But the creep, himself... he was gone.

“We're out of time,” said Jonathan, as he heard the sirens and realized he’d just violated his parole in oh so many ways. To think, he used to welcome the sound.

****

Sinville was the kind of place where bargains came cheap, where dreams came pre-broken, where hope was just a four-letter word. Turn any corner in Sinville and you’d come across a cheap roach-infested motel that had seen better days, and so was the case for Jonathan and Chloe as their car entered the Heartland Motel.

There’d been nothing to do but find a place to huddle up for the night, to get Chloe to calm down and figure out what on Earth he was going to do next.

The stink, somehow it had stayed with them all the way to the motel, thankfully it seemed to have disappeared by the time they’d reached their room. Now they were safe, but while Chloe was checking out the room, Jonathan still needed some answers.

“Chloe, I went to your apartment,” he began. “Your window was thrown wide open. The rooms looked almost empty. That's why I was sure you'd been kidnapped.”

“My window? Robbed again? That's the third time this year,” Chloe said, shaking her head. “Lucky my notes are all on this laptop.”

“Notes?”

“My class notes. The Talon job’s just tiding me over; I’m a journalism student, want to be a reporter one day, though my biggest story I’ll never get to tell. Hope you’re not disappointed in me, this bodylicious exotic dancer just wanting to be a mild-mannered reporter. Me and my crazy double life.”

“No, not at all,” Jonathan said, smiling, as Chloe seemed to continue getting more beautiful in front of him. He was falling for the girl, hard, just like he knew he mustn’t.

****

Outside the window, as Jonathan and Chloe talked, and Chloe started making herself a coffee, somebody moved from underneath the throw that Chloe kept in the back seat of her car. The green bald man poked his head up and looked at Jonathan and Chloe’s silhouettes in the motel window. Vengeance would be his.

****

“There was something else I saw at your place,” Jonathan continued, trying to ignore Chloe’s truckload of charms. “Someone had put pictures on your wall: you, me, the Luthors, that big guy who was ogling you at the bar tonight, all of them joined by lines. Any idea why would someone do that?”

Chloe’s hand went to her face, trying to hide her embarrassment. “That was me. Just trying to make sense of things on my wall of weird... I’ve got a pic of it somewhere,” she said, opening her laptop. “I'm such a nerd. Can’t make sense of anything... I swore if I ever saw you again, I'd show you I grew up strong, but back there, on the road, I was just like before, scared and helpless.”

“You should sit down. You'll feel a little bit better if you sit down. And maybe you don’t need that coffee...”

He'd never been all that good with people. When it came to reassuring a traumatised twenty-one-year-old, he was as expert as a Tourette’s sufferer doing hostage negotiation with two tin cans and a string.

“It's always been you, Jonathan,” she told him, stepping towards him, cradling her cup of coffee. “All these years.”

“It's just nerves making you say that, Chloe. You’re just exhausted. You need to sleep.”

“Sleep with me,” she said, a glint in her eye.

“Stop it, Chloe.”

She looked hurt and sad at his words. “Ten years. Why do you think I kept writing you those letters? It wasn't just gratitude. I tried to fall in love with boys. I thought I did once or twice but I was already in love... with you.”

“That's enough,” he said, “I'm old enough to be your father.” He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Chloe or himself. “You're just scared.”

“I'm not scared.”

She leaned in to kiss him.

“No,” he said, turning away, and then he couldn’t resist, shoving his lips against hers.

After a forever, he moved away from her.

“There's wrong and there's wrong and then there's this which is wrong to the power of wrong with added wrongness. For God's sakes, you're just a kid.”

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you, too,” he said, unable to deny the truth any longer as he gazed into her blue-green eyes. “With all my heart.”

****

Jonathan took a cold shower. It helped, but not a lot; in fact it was as much use as non-stick glue. Then, over the sound of the hot running water, he heard footsteps in the bathroom.

“No, Chloe,” he said, telling himself to do the right thing, even though it was so darn hard.

The shower curtain was pulled back and his pulse quickened, then, instead of Chloe, a big green fist walked in, straight into his face, knocking him to the floor.

“I’m sure you recognize my voice, Mr. Kent?” the green guy said, blood still pouring from his neck and running down into the shower, mingling with the water there. “I look different, but I’m sure you haven’t forgotten me,” he said, as his shoe pushed down on Jonathan’s face.

“Sure, I recognize you, Lex,” Jonathan said through gritted teeth. “Just sorry I didn’t kill you the first time around.”

Lex’s shoe came up off Jonathan’s face momentarily, before slamming back down again, and then everything went black.


	14. That Mellow Bastard, Part Four

Jonathan Kent lurched back to consciousness, wet, naked and lying on a wooden table. He couldn’t breathe; a noose was around his neck, and getting tighter. He tried moving, realized his hands were bound behind his back, and managed to lurch into a sitting position. He saw Lex watching on, and that mellow bastard pulled on the rope, winching the noose up some more, forcing Jonathan to stand, then get on his tip toes, so that the rope wouldn’t choke him. Lex looked at him, maybe pondering whether to pull some more, finish Jonathan off there and then, but instead he secured the end of the rope to a door handle and turned his attention to Chloe, leaving Jonathan dangling there, struggling to keep balance, looking on helplessly.

Everything had gone straight to hell. Jonathan had been suckered into betraying the only friend he had, and putting her in the hands of a murdering sadist he thought he’d put down for good ten years ago.

Chloe lay on the floor, undressed and unconscious, her clothes scattered around, while Lex held her, injecting her neck with a syringe of glowing green liquid.

Jonathan had been suckered by a spoiled brat, son of a billionaire. It had all gone to hell.

Lex pulled out his cell phone. “Helen, it's Lex. Send some of my bodyguards, I need them to clean up after me, remove all evidence I was here. Tell them not to touch anything else, they can leave the body hanging, the clothes sprawled around. I’m over at the Heartland Motel, room one-thirteen. Also, please set up the spare room; I’ve having an old friend over, we’ve got so much to talk about.”

As Lex put his phone away, Chloe came to and looked up at Jonathan. Her eyes were moving, but her body stayed limp; whatever that bastard had injected her with had paralyzed her. Jonathan remembered that look on her face, that fear in her eyes; just like ten years ago.

“So, Mr. Kent, looks like I get the girl, get to carry on where I left off all those years ago. But please don’t think this makes us even. It’s thanks to you I ended up looking the way I do, and my father will never forgive you because this...” Lex paused, looking for the right word, “...affectation of mine robbed him of any hope of having grandchildren. Of course, he tried to have more children, but that woman he chose, that infertile barren Martha Clark, just couldn’t conceive.”

The Luthors really knew how to push Jonathan’s buttons, make him angry, but he had to stay calm, stay alive, for Chloe’s sake. He couldn’t risk losing his balance or losing his temper; all he could do for now was just stand there and listen.

“Oh, what’s the matter, Mr. Kent, touched a raw nerve? I realise she was your ex, but after what you were jailed for, you became her ‘Why?’; it’s just lucky my father was there to console her on those long lonely nights. Be careful there, Mr. Kent, you look a bit shaky on your feet; we wouldn’t want you to have an accident. Anyway, look on the bright side; you've led me back to your darling ‘Nancy’. We all wondered who wrote all those letters. She didn’t leave a clue. Clever girl, though in retrospect it all seems a tad obvious. Anyway, thank you for leading me to the beautiful Ms. Sullivan, but yet again that doesn’t make us even. If I shaved you all over and painted you luminous green, that still wouldn’t make us even. Now this...” Lex kicked away the table under Jonathan’s feet, “... this almost makes us even.” Lex picked up Chloe’s body and carried her away, leaving Jonathan hanging there, choking, on the end of the rope.

This was it for Jonathan Kent. No way to fight it now. No hope left.

No chance. This was it. This was the end. The final curtain. The big finish. Jonathan was leaving the building.

His eyes closed.

And then they opened again. No, he had to give it a shot, for Chloe; he still had that one loose end to tie up before he could rest in peace. Straining his muscles, he kept his neck tight and swung his legs backwards and forwards, moving his body, building up momentum. There was a window behind him, maybe it was alarmed. If he could only break it. He continued swinging, like a pendulum, using his legs to increase the size of the arc.

He had to reach the window. Had to keep his neck tight, stay conscious. Just an inch or so more.

His feet finally made contact, smashing through the window, and then there was just the sound of him swinging. There was no alarm. But there was smashed glass. He grabbed a shard between his naked feet, it cut into them but he ignored the pain, bringing his feet up behind his back, positioning the glass against his bound hands. He had to cut the rope. He could do it.

He could do it.

****

It wasn’t long before Lex’s bodyguards arrived. They were both dressed like Lex, head to toe in black, with shaved heads, though neither of them glowed green.

They entered the hotel room and saw no one, which is exactly what Jonathan wanted them to see.

Jonathan leaped out of the shadows, and unleashed his fists on them. They were surprisingly easy to overcome, falling like dominoes; the Luthors obviously stayed rich by hiring the cheapest help.

“Show me where Luthor took Chloe, or I'll cut your damn head off,” Jonathan said, holding one of the beaten bodyguard’s necks by the broken glass of the window.

“It's a farm on Hickory Lane, next to the cemetery. I can draw you a map.”

Jonathan didn’t need a map. He’d once lived there. The Luthors had taken his life, his wife, and now his home, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered now was rescuing Chloe.

****

He took the bodyguards’ car and started driving toward what had once been the Kent Farm. His foot was down hard on the gas, there was no time to waste.

Lex’s bodyguards had been packing an arsenal. Once things got loud, he'd probably have use for the cannons, but at first, he'd have to play it quiet. Quiet and nasty.

Then he saw it: Chloe's car. Six miles from the farm

‘Nobody but me can keep this heap running,’ she’d told him. Good girl. The car had stalled out on that mellow bastard, and she’d kept her mouth shut about how to start it. Lex would have been furious, slapped her around something fierce, but she’d stayed strong. She’d bought a few extra minutes. There was still a chance.

He ditched the car a mile or so from the farm and made his way through the snow-filled woods. He wasn’t halfway to the farm when it hit him, hit him hard. His hand grabbed his chest. His heart. It couldn't be his heart. He’d thought he was cured. Looked like time was catching up with him. He started coughing so hard he thought his face would come off. He put his hand to his mouth, and noticed there was blood on it, mixed in with the phlegm. Didn't matter now. He didn't have to stay alive that much longer anyway.

He carried on walking, on his final mission. On the outskirts of the farm, he saw a guard, but the guard didn’t see him. Jonathan grabbed him from behind, broke his neck, took his knife. A rotten way to kill a man, but it was quiet.

He could hate himself later.

****

Whatever Lex had injected her with had finally started to wear off. Chloe Sullivan was no longer paralyzed, but still couldn’t move, since Lex had strapped her to a sturdy wooden chair. She was however regaining feeling; there was a dull pain at the back of her head where Lex had knocked her unconscious earlier along with the winter cold on her naked body. She looked at Lex, standing in front of her; the memories came flooding back and, though she didn’t want to, she suddenly felt like her scared eleven-year-old self again.

“So what now, Lex?” she said, pushing back her fear. “Going to kill me too?”

“Kill you, Miss Sullivan? That’s the last thing I’m going to do. I’m not even going to hurt you, though I can’t say the same for my bodyguards. After all, it needs to look realistic. The story is that Mr. Kent, having confessed to molesting you as a child, came back to finish what he’d started. I guess that’s why you hung him, back in that sleazy motel room he dragged you to.”

“You crazy green man,” Chloe said, straining against the ropes that held her. “You’re going to try and frame me for Jonathan’s death?”

“No, I’m going to succeed in framing you for his death,” Lex said, walking around her. “Don’t worry, I’ll write you letters when you’re in jail; one a week.”

“You sick twisted -”

“Now, now, Miss Sullivan,” Lex said from behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders. “You were a witness to my killing Mr. Kent. You either have to die or be framed. You really should be thanking me. Besides you might just get away with it, some people will say that pervert had it coming.”

“If I do get away with it, you’re next,” Chloe warned him through clenched teeth.

“Please, Miss Sullivan, I didn’t bring you here so you could threaten me,” Lex said, taking his hands off her shoulders. “I just want to talk to you for now, finish the conversation we started ten years ago... before my accident.”

“A shame you didn’t die that day.”

“Sometimes I wish I had,” Lex said, without a trace of emotion. “I don’t suppose you can imagine what it’s like being green.”

“I hear it isn’t easy,” Chloe said, “but it sure beats dying. So, let’s talk. Either give me the third degree or give me verdigris, just get it over with. I’m having a bad day.”

“I don’t need answers from you anymore, Chloe Sullivan,” Lex said, as he moved away from her, looking out of the window, up into the night sky. “I just wanted you to understand what happened ten years ago.”

“I know what happened Lex. I’ve spent the last ten years looking for answers, figuring it all out. Not that it’ll ever see print - the greatest story never told.”

Lex shook his head. “No, you only think you know what happened. You think I’m a crazy man who abducted and tortured and killed children”

“Yes, but I know there was more to it than that,” Chloe said. “I know it started with a superman...”


	15. That Mellow Bastard, Part Five

A smile crossed Lex’s green face. “You impress me, Ms. Sullivan. You’ve done your homework. It did indeed begin with a superman. I’m not sure what brought Captain Marvel to Smallville, probably its reputation, but here he was, trying to thwart my father’s plans.”

“Battling against Lionel,” Chloe said. “Something the rest of Smallville were afraid to.”

“The people here were just interested in themselves,” Lex said. “It wasn’t until that meteor shower came along - an unnatural disaster that brought them together - that they even acted like a community... but by then it was far too late, my father was in charge... But Captain Marvel with his amazing powers, he had other ideas.”

“That man was a hero, but you had to cut him down to size, didn’t you?”

Lex leaned in towards her, kneeling down, placing his cold gloved hand on her bare arm, his piercing blue eyes staring into hers. “He might have been a hero, but he wasn’t a man. He was just a boy; Billy Batson. I wanted to harness Captain Marvel’s power, make my father proud, so I captured the boy, asked him to tell me his secrets, but when I removed the gag, let him talk, all I got was this...” Lex removed his hand from her arm and pulled off his one black glove, revealing the scarred flesh beneath; a white streak crossed his hand, standing out against his green skin. “He said a word and lightning came from the sky, burning my hand and transforming him. He turned into Captain Marvel and flew away, smashing straight through the roof, into the heavens... I never saw him again.”

“So, you turned to his companions, Mary and Freddy...”

Lex nodded. “Yes, but this time I’d learned my lesson, I never even let them talk. Just let my scientists examine their bodies, but they told me even less than Billy had.”

“So, you turned to me then. Why?” Chloe asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and anger. “Just because I went to the same school?”

Lex placed his scarred hand under her chin. She flinched and wanted to remove it, but the straps around her wrist and neck prevented her. “You’d been seen talking to them,” he said to her. “I just wanted to know what you knew, but I never found out.”

“You think I’ll tell you now? After what you’ve done?”

“It would be so much easier and less painful for you than my making you,” said Lex. “Still, I’ll leave the choice to you. I’m nothing if not reasonable.”

“So, what did you do to Captain Marvel?” Chloe asked, changing the subject. “I know he ended up as Marv, his powers stripped, not even remembering who he used to be, but I want to know how you did it.”

“Marv? He’s Captain Marvel?” Lex said, and then she saw realization dawn on his face, followed by a smile. “So, my wish actually worked.”

“You just wished it?”

Lex got back up to his feet. “It was while I was in hospital, after the meteor,” he explained, as he paced back and forth. “A young girl came to my bed, asked me if I wanted to make a wish. I made one, wished people would just forget about Captain Marvel, wished he was just mortal.”

“You really expect me to believe that?” Chloe asked.

Lex ignored her question, but continued talking. “I wanted vengeance on him for what he did, was envious of his powers...”

“Maybe that’s what turned you green,” said Chloe, but Lex didn’t look like he was in a joking mood.

“Why did I wish that? What good did it do me?” he said to himself more than Chloe. “What I really should have wished for -”

Lex’s musing was interrupted by the sound of a gunshot outside.

****

Jonathan Kent was running along toward the farm, when a bullet suddenly tore through his shoulder. He fell to the ground, the burning pain in his shoulder mingling with the cold of the snow beneath him. He was just a stupid old man, in too much of a hurry. He’d let Chloe down.

****

Lex looked out of the window, searching for the source of the gunshot.

“It can't be!” he said, seeing Jonathan sprawled on the ground. He looked at Chloe. “I said I had to frame you or kill you. If Mr. Kent’s still alive, it looks like there’ll just be the one option.”

****

Jonathan had gone charging in like Galahad, just like he told himself he wouldn't. He cursed himself.

As he lay there on the ground, face down, he heard two sets of footsteps approaching him. Jonathan had a knife strapped to his ankle, but there were only two of them and he might need it for later. Instead, his hands reached for his guns, as the sound got nearer.

“You tagged him good,” said a voice.

“Don't take no chances,” replied the other. “Perforate the foo-”

Before the man could finish his sentence, Jonathan rolled over onto his back, the gun in his hands blazing as they blasted Lex’s guards to pieces.

“Good advice,” said Jonathan, but they were no longer listening.

****

Jonathan entered the farm building, and saw Chloe strapped to a chair, naked, Lex holding a Beretta to her head. Chloe was just looking at Lex defiantly, no fear in her face. She’d sure grown up.

“Give it up, Luthor,” Jonathan said, struggling to lift his gun; his shoulder was hurting bad. “It's over. Let her go.”

“You're dreaming, Jonathan. I get to see your eyes while I blast the head off the woman of your dreams right in front of you. And I’ll pin it all on you.”

“You’ll be dead before then,” Jonathan said, gritting his teeth.

“Look at you,” Lex said calmly. “You're about to keel over, you can't even lift that cannon.”

“Sure I can,” he said, then grimaced, grabbed at his chest and fell to his knees, dropping his gun.

“You gave me a scare there for a second, old man,” Lex said.

“Chloe, I'm sorry,” Jonathan said, looking up into her sad eyes.

“I'm taking no chances with you, Mr. Kent,” Lex said, turning the Beretta away from Chloe and toward Jonathan. “Looks like it’s back to the first option, Chloe.”

“There’s one thing you forgot, Lex,” Chloe said, relaxing in her chair, a smile appearing on her face.

Lex continued aiming his gun at Jonathan. “What? You think they’ll trace it back to me, just because he’s found dead here. Jonathan used to own this farm, what better place for him to bring you. As for me, I’ve got nothing to do with this farm, my father’s friend Mr. Edge lets me use it. I’m one of the more normal occupants, if truth be told. There’s a young boy here who could have even given Captain Marvel a run for his money.”

“He’s not the only one,” Chloe said.

“Really?” said an amused Lex, his finger tightening on the trigger.

“You weren’t the only one obsessed with Billy Batson, Lex. You wanted to know what I knew, I knew plenty. When I was a teenager, I spent all my weekends over in Fawcett City, searching for a subway tunnel, looking for the wizard who’d given The Marvel Family their powers.”

“A wizard? Preposterous,” Lex said. “I really think it’s time we put Mr. Kent out of his misery.”

“The wizard gave me those powers too. He wanted me to avenge them. You want to know that wizard’s name?”

“Enough delaying tactics, Chloe. Time to pull the trigger. Goodbye, Jonathan Kent.”

He was just about to pull the trigger, when Chloe shouted a word, a word that he’d not heard in ten years, but a word he remembered like it was yesterday. “Shazam!”

He turned around, prepared to face whatever Chloe had become, but she was just sitting there, unchanged, still smiling.

“Never found that subway. I guess this is what you call a distract-” she said, but by then she’d given Jonathan just the opening he needed. The time for playing dead was over, as he’d grabbed the knife that had been strapped to his ankle and plunged it into Lex’s stomach.

“Sucker!” said Jonathan, as he punched the stunned Lex, knocking him to the ground, sending his gun sliding across the floor.

Then, as Lex lay on the floor, Jonathan started punching him, until he was unconscious. He wanted to do it some more, over and over again, and once more for good luck, but Jonathan was a good man and he wasn’t sinking down to the Luthor level.

“So long, Lex. Been a pleasure,” he said, as he got back to his feet, then unstrapped Chloe.

She got to her feet, unsteady on them, and hugged him; he felt the cold of her naked body and gave her his coat.

“It’s over, Chloe,” he told her. “The nightmare’s over.”

“I knew you’d come for me, Jonathan,” she said. “You always come.”

****

By the time he got her to the car, Chloe had stopped shaking, her skin was warm again, she was herself again. He got her coat out of the car, and exchanged it with her for his.

“Thanks for remembering my coat,” she said. “And for all the little things. Like saving my life, twice.”

“You better get rolling,” he told her.

“You're not coming along?”

“No. I have friends on their way to collect evidence. I'm going to blow this whole sick mess wide open. I'm going to clear my name. I'm going to put the Luthors behind bars, where they belong.”

“I can't lose you,” she said, looking into his eyes. “Not again.”

“You'll never lose me, Chloe,” he said, putting his hand against her warm cheek.

He pulled her to him, kissed her, whispered sweet somethings into her ear, and then she climbed into the car and drove away... out of his life.

Chloe Sullivan. The love of his life. Shame to lie to her. He hoped she’d forgive him for it.

Get the Luthors behind bars? Sure. And maybe after he’d pulled off that miracle, he’d go and persuade Satan to put in air-conditioning.

There wasn't a prosecutor in the state who'd go after the Luthors, but he knew that after tonight they’d use all their power to get revenge on him, and that they'd go after him through Chloe.

She’d never be safe while he was around or while she was in Sinville.

He walked back to Lex’s lair. The green freak was still lying there unconscious, but all he needed was the guy’s cell phone. He looked at it, things sure had got smaller and more complicated while he'd been inside. Still, he could still figure out how to dial a number on it. A number he couldn’t resist looking up while he was searching the phonebook for Chloe’s address.

He was nervous as the phone rung at the other side, and just when he was about to give up, she answered it. No, it wasn’t her, just her answerphone; looked like she was out. Either that or she’d heard he was out and wasn’t going to pick the phone up. That didn’t matter, it would be a lot easier for both of them if he just left a message.

“Hi, Martha, it’s me, Jonathan. I realize you hate me but you’re the one of the only people I can rely on in this crazy town. There’s a girl called Chloe Sullivan, you’ll find her in the phone book. She knows the truth about what went on ten years ago. Anyway, get her out of town, it’s not safe for her here. I know I can count on you. Don’t worry, you won’t be hearing from me again.”

He dropped the phone down, tears suddenly rolling down his cheeks. Some conversations were never easy.

That had taken care of one part of the problem, now just one loose end to go. Chloe would never be safe. Not as long as he was alive. There was only one way that things could end, the way they always ended.

An old man died. A young woman lived. Fair trade.

He knelt on the ground and lifted the gun to his head.

“Don’t do it,” came a yell from behind him.

“Chloe?” Jonathan said, putting the gun down. She was standing there, tears in her eyes.

“For a second I believed your lies about bringing the Luthors to justice, wanted to believe them, but I know how corrupt this town is. That’s why I headed back, afraid you were going to do something like this... even though you said you’d never leave me.”

“It’s the only way,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Running away’s no solution. You’ve still got loose ends to tie up here,” she said, as she walked over to him, held his head in her hands. “We can beat them together, and even if we don’t we need to at least try. If Billy Batson taught me anything, it’s the importance of words, and this is one story I don’t intend to bury.”

“But this way you’ll be safe,” he argued.

“If you shoot yourself, so will I; I’ll follow you to death and beyond if I have to. No way I’m letting go of you, not after all this time.”

“In that case, I’ve got no choice,” Jonathan said, passing the gun to Chloe.

“Everything will be okay,” Chloe said. “I’ll never leave you.”

Jonathan smiled, then groaned, and grabbed his chest, then fell unconscious in her arms.

“You’ll be alright, you’ve got to be,” she said, reaching for the cell phone. “I’ll call the hospital, just hang on in there.”

*****

It seemed like forever before she finally heard the sirens, their sound drowning out Jonathan’s labored breathing. She looked at Lex, lying there unconscious in a pool of green blood, and then at the gun in her hand, and she pointed the crosshairs in his direction and wondered whether to pull the trigger.


	16. The Customer Is Always Wrong, Part Two

Lex Luthor lay on a bed in Smallville Medical Center, having woken up from a strange dream about a strange world where he wasn’t green; a dream that even now was fading from his memory.

That was when she entered his room, a sexy dark-haired girl, dressed in skimpy cut-off pants and a checked shirt that showed off her midriff.

“Zatanna?”

“Lex?” she said. “I’d recognise that glowing green skin anywhere. Oh, this outfit? Some guy’s wish was me in a Daisy Duke outfit. Then the poor guy had a heart attack. You win some, you lose some.”

He tried to respond, but he didn’t have the strength. There was a pain in his stomach, from beneath the bandages, and his face ached from the pounding Jonathan had given it.

“I saw you when I was a child,” the girl said. “In this same hospital. My father brought me here.”

He remembered that day as if it was yesterday, the days those meteors had ruined his life, and then in hospital afterwards there was Zatanna. She’d sure filled out.

“Make a wish,” she said. Last time he’d changed a hero into a man. This time he wished that the meteors had never arrived that day.

And that’s when time rewrote itself once again, going back to the way it had once been.

*****

Between black satin sheets, a very different Lex Luthor stared at Zatanna blankly. While he’d enjoyed their night of passion, he was getting impatient. “Your spell. It still hasn’t worked.”

“It hasn’t?”

“No. If it had, things would be very different.”

“I don’t know what happened,” Zatanna said. “The wishes have always worked before.”

“Looks like I’ll be keeping that book,” said a disappointed Lex. He’d let himself think that Zatanna was the genuine article, but sadly it seemed he was wrong.

“But I must have that book,” Zatanna protested. “Make another wish.”

Lex had had enough of this charlatan, letting her stunning looks cloud his judgement, so he made another wish, as she’d requested, this time wishing their paths had never crossed.

Zatanna’s eyes glowed the brightest blue and then she disappeared, leaving Lex lying there alone, wondering what had happened, as all memories of meeting Zatanna disappeared from his mind. He vaguely remembered wanting to change the past, but that didn’t seem such a good idea anymore. He couldn’t change the past, and he was no longer interested in doing so. It was the present that mattered, and the future.

He got up, out of bed, put on a clean set of his black clothes, and walked onto the balcony, ready to face the day, ready to face tomorrow.

A smile crossed his face as he watched the sunrise, but then the smile faltered, as it seemed like something was missing from his life. He wasn’t sure what had changed, or why he felt that way; it just seemed like the magic had gone away.

THE END


End file.
